


A Beauty Like You

by athenamaddox



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Kind Lotor, M/M, Sniper Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2020-06-06 19:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19453543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenamaddox/pseuds/athenamaddox
Summary: The man about to kill him was beautiful.The thought made him laugh, though his brow furrowed at the press of the blade against his throat. The conflict Lance felt at the moment was ill-timed - so many people in the universe, and of course he would crush on a Galra soldier fighting him.The Galra turns his chin up again. "Why do you laugh, paladin of Voltron? Can you not see the odds have fallen undoubtedly in my favor?"The words sound regal, almost - too sophisticated for a simple Galra soldier, or even a commanding officer. Clearly Galra, but so atypical, Lance didn't know what to think of him.As Lance wiped the blood from his mouth, a weak smirk settled on his lips. "It's not so unfortunate - if this is how I die, I'm at least lucky enough to have a beauty like you in my sights, right?"|This will be a Voltron AU - it is not set after any specific episode or season, it's just here for you to read and enjoy. This will also feature some #Klance conflict ;D





	1. A Beauty Like You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was cathartic, especially with my angst for season 8 . . .

Everything in him felt weak, but his arms held steady, unshaken even with the weight of his bayard.

It had fully transformed into his sniper-rifle by now, and as he hid away behind the foot of his lion, he found comfort in the hard press of his rifle to his shoulder, in the way the sights lined up perfectly with the Galra cruiser as it landed.

The cruiser threw dust everywhere, with a strong wind that made Lance glad he had a helmet to shield his eyes from the debris. The paladin's pulse beat hard in his chest, but he was thankful to at least hear the other paladins in his ear.

" _Pidge, what are our options?_ " Allura's voice somehow still seeming calm and collected—how she does it, Lance would never know.

" _If you and Hunk can distract it for just a moment, Keith and I can sneak away long enough to reach Lance—_ "

" _I might have an idea—_ " But the yellow paladin is interrupted by his own scream, and the blue paladin's nerves spike, only able to imagine what could've just happened to his friend.

Then, his leader's voice in his ear, always sure but confidence seeming lost on him now that one of them is in immediate danger. "Hunk!" he shouts, but continues—" _Lance, we're coming for you, just hang tight!_ "

With a quick, calming breath, Lance responds, eyes trained on the single silhouette figure emerging from the cruiser, into the cloud of dust.

_"Hunk, do you copy?"_

"I've got eyes—it's just one of them—"

" _I'm okay_ ," yellow finally assures.

Lance felt immediate relief— _everyone's okay_ —

" _We're right behind you buddy, hang in there—_ "

But now, he had to tune them out. He focused completely on the figure, and as they emerged, noticed no one appeared to follow.

It's definitely suspicious—at this point, the Galra soldier would be far enough away that the blue paladin could scan the surrounding buildings. He flicked the infrared sights on, but there didn't seem to be anything in the ruins.

Switching back to basic sights, he zeroed in on the soldier.

The Galra seemed to be more on the lean side, much like himself, and covered head to toe in signature Galran armor. The person walked on at a steady pace, as if in no hurry to approach.

A frown worked its way onto Lance's face with each observation. _Just the one guy? It's got to be a set up . . ._

He replayed all the different possibilities in his head, but nothing was lining up. His proximity scanners showed only the one soldier, and nothing else— _no one_ else.

And so, an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach—anxiety, dread, and fear.

He decided he would stand and meet the Galra soldier in the middle—Lance had no idea what this person was up to, but there's no way they're getting anywhere near Red.

As he stood, sights still trained on the soldier, he noticed the rank marks on the breastplate armor. Lance thought he had them all down, but he was positive he had never seen rank marks like this.

His teeth clicked as his jaw clenched tightly, continuing the steady walk toward the strange soldier with overwhelmed senses. There's too much left unknown for him to be comfortable—how could Lance even know their intentions? They couldn't have come in peace, right?

"Guys," he muttered. "What's the ETA? I'm approaching target."

" _Lance, be_ careful—"

" _Keith and I aren't too far, we just got away_ —"

" _Lance,_ do no engage _, do you hear me? It's too dangerous on your own, we don't know who this guy is_ —"

"Don't worry about me."

But the soldier grew ever closer, and soon the paladin's magnified sights had to come down—the soldier would be too close to snipe down now. With a flicker of something indescribable, he felt his bayard responding to him, morphing into its original rifle form.

As soon as the Galra grew close enough, Lance called out. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

He hoped against everything that this alien has just come in peace, but to no avail. He received no response, just the slightest upward tilt of the chin, and then . . .

Lance frowned, his expression slowly darkening. The Galra was speeding up, running— _quiznack he's running now_ —

The soldier was noticeably swift, and the second they unsheathed their blade, Lance never wasted the time—hooked his finger around the trigger and let loose a hail of bullets.

Some the soldier managed to dodge, and some had bounced off the edges of their armor, seemingly ineffective.

Knowing immediately it would be a waste of time to keep shooting, he let his bayard shift into the sword form he'd gained when he became the pilot for Red, again feeling a second of otherworldly sensation before witnessing his bayard reform again. As he readied for the fight, he noticed something odd—

His opponent had a Galran-looking sword, but the style seemed to be modeled after the Altean broadsword, much like his own bayard . . .

What kind of Galra would use Altean weaponry?

Then came the moment where the soldier finally reached him, and Lance regretted _everything_.

The Galra was quick—quick, tactical, _and_ just plain strong. The soldier was clearly a master swordsman—there's no way a novice or even experienced soldier could wield a sword like that with such grace and power.

It took everything in the paladin to parry the first several attacks, and the soldier never gave him a second to prepare.

Lance gritted his teeth—this guy was _good_. And unfortunately, that severely lowered Lance's chances of winning.

It was all he could do to protect himself and get a few counter-attacks in, but as good as he might've been, there'd be no comparison between he and the Galra.

"Guys," he grunted, arms burning with the force it took just to block his opponent's sword. "Tell me you're almost here! I don't think I can—"

Just then, the soldier caught him off guard, and took the opportunity to shove Lance to the ground with a forceful uppercut using the pommel of their blade.

The force of it had his ears ringing—his bayard knocked out of his hands, and his body thrown to the ground. He could hear his fellow paladins' panicked words just a second before his head slammed into the ground so hard his helmet came clean off.

His vision was blurred, and dazed—he struggled to get his bearings.

 _Not like this, not_ alone—

But his vision cleared, only to make way for the sight of the Galra soldier standing above him.

His body ached all over. Coupled with the pain of his beating, the planet Nonstreiter's atmosphere may have been Earth-like, but oxygen levels were still too low for Lance to breathe properly.

His lungs sputtered and ached, each shaken breath sharp as he dragged the air in and out, attempting to crawl backward toward Red—

The Galra simply followed, strolling alongside the beaten paladin. His opponent shifted their sword into one hand, using the other to curl under their helmet and remove it.

As they did so, Lance's heart, having been erratic, actually stopped for the moment. The man's hair was long and white, almost like Allura's, but straight, with not a hair out of place. The soldier had it slicked back away from his face, save for the single lock of hair that fell into his eyes. And his eyes—he's definitely Galra, with dark pupils surrounded by golden sclera, and lavender skin to contrast his hair.

Lance wanted to think of the Galra as his enemy, even as the man so casually tucked his helmet under his arm and raised his strange broadsword hybrid to the paladin's chin. This tip of it was wicked sharp, but Lance could only see the sharpness in the features of the Galran's face.

The soldier's face was overlain by a steeled expression, giving nothing away and exuding absolute raw power.

"Don't bother attempting escape," he said coolly. "You must know you won't get very far."

Lance grew dizzy again at the sound of his voice—not really as ragged as one would expect of a Galra, but deep and smooth. He spoke in a strange tongue, again unlike the typical Galra soldiers the paladin had come across so many times in his life. He held an air of sophistication and confidence that Lance wished for, upheld by the attractive accent he seemed to carry on his tongue.

All in all . . .

The man about to kill him was _beautiful_.

The thought made him laugh, though his brow furrowed at the press of the blade against his throat. The conflict Lance felt in that moment was ill-timed—so many people in the universe, and of course he would crush on a Galra soldier fighting him.

The Galran turned his chin up again. "Why do you laugh, paladin of Voltron? Can you not see the odds have fallen undoubtedly in my favor?"

The words sounded regal, almost—too sophisticated for a simple Galra soldier, or even a commanding officer. Clearly Galra, but so atypical, Lance didn't know what to think of him.

As Lance wiped the blood from his mouth, a weak smirk settled on his lips. "It's not so unfortunate—if this is how I die, I'm at least lucky enough to have a beauty like you in my sights, right?"

The shock that overtook the soldier's steeled expression was almost funny, if the man hadn't been so beautiful as to make even _that_ look graceful. His sword even dropped from Lance's throat.

Lance took a long look at the man, and then, with a smile painted on his face, wished the other paladins luck. They could do it all without him, so if Lance had to be the one to die, he would be glad it would be him and no one else who had to go.

So he lets his eyes fall shut, his breathing still ragged. If anything, the harsh breaths helped remind him that he's still alive, just a moment more.

But he still breathed, many moments later, and as he felt the air pulse with the force of the other lions landing on the surface, he wondered for a moment if any time had passed.

When he opened his eyes, the strange Galra was gone, and only his friends' shouting echoed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm new to AO3, having used Wattpad for all of my writing thus far. Please let me know if you have any tips, because AO3 is quite different from what I've experienced on Wattpad!  
> Tell me how you like this fanfic so far 😘


	2. Never Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photoshop keeps not saving my banners properly so that's why this took so long but hey the more I remade them, the better it came out!

"Lance, _what were you thinking_? Why didn't you stay in your lion?"

It was moments like these that Lance hated—no, _despised_ —it was the moments where they would all gather around in the Castle of Lions and tell him how he messed up.

It's understandable—yeah, he _should've_ stayed in Red, and yeah, he _should've_ at least waited for Pidge and Keith to back him up, but his instincts said otherwise. If there was anything he'd learned at the Garrison, it would be trusting his instincts. They were seldom wrong.

And Keith was _so angry_ , staring him down with dark, guarded eyes and ripping into him in front of everyone. Pidge sat behind him, arms crossed and brows furrowed like she usually does when she's frustrated, or thinking. Hunk sat opposite, resting his chin on his hands and elbows on his knees, looking down at the ground with a grim expression. Shiro stood behind him, arms crossed with that stern look that always made Lance feel sick.

Behind him, Lance could feel Allura and Coran glaring holes into his back.

The blue paladin steeled himself before speaking. "Keith, _you_ told me to ground myself on the planet's surface, so that's what I did!"

Keith shook his head, lip curled in a snarl as Shiro stepped forward to place a hand on Keith's shoulder. As Keith looked up at him, Shiro gave him the same, dead-serious look.

Turning to Lance, Shiro spoke calmly, as always. "Lance, we need to know what happened out there."

Hunk spoke up then, looking up at Lance and letting his arms fall. "Yeah, man, your helmet looked like it got knocked clean off. What went down?"

And everyone turned to look at him. Internally, Lance cringed—there's bound to be something wrong with what he did, and then everyone will _really_ be mad.

Lance shook his head, wondering where to start, how to say it without giving them reason to think lowly of him.

"It was just . . . one cruiser, and in it, just one person. He—"

But Keith was impatient. "He _who_? Sendak? Zarkon?"

Shiro tightened his hold on Keith's shoulder. "Keith, that's enough. Let him say what he has to say."

Keith, angry as ever, ripped his shoulder away from Shiro's hold, looking away and practically pouting. It would've been funny in any other situation.

Heck, it's _still_ funny.

But Lance repressed his grin, not wanting to set anyone off. "I don't know—it can't be anyone we've met before, I'd remember. We . . . he got out of his cruiser, and it was just him, so I did too. My instincts just told me—"

"Your instincts might need some fine-tuning—that Galra could've easily had a crew in there that could wipe you out like _that_." Pidge snapped her fingers, eyes hard behind her glasses.

"Look, I'm just telling you what happened! Maybe if you'd let me finish . . ."

With the silence of his team, he continued.

"We both walked towards each other, and I entertained the idea that he might've somehow come in peace—"

Allura scoffed. "A Galra? Come in peace? Really, Lance, you mustn't actually believe—"

Lance sighed, frustrated. It's difficult being on a team of seven people who casually save the universe on their free time—that means seven people who all have something to say.

" _But_ ," he said, looking back at Allura, ". . . he eventually drew his sword. At that point, I was too close to take him out with the sniper. I fired some shots with the rifle, but he either dodged them, or they bounced right off his weird armor."

Pidge frowned, leaning forward from her slouched position and pushing her glasses up. "Weird armor? How do you mean?"

"It was definitely Galra, but I haven't seen anything like it before. It had the blues and purples, but it also had orange streaks and no known rank on the breastplate. I've never seen anything like it."

Everyone almost simultaneously frowned, and he knew he had to tell them more.

" _I know right_? And he had a sword that's totally Galra—except it looked like it was modeled after an Altean broadsword, like our bayards, Keith!"

Keith finally looked up at him, but only frowned.

Hunk sat back, clearly interested. "Was the guy really that strange?"

Lance nodded enthusiastically—"Yeah, he had this weird accent too! And . . . white hair."

Pidge stood this time. "You know what his hair looks like? He took off his helmet too?"

Lance nodded again, more hesitant this time. "Yeah, he—I—well, we fought, sword-to-sword. He was wicked fast _and_ crazy strong—I tried, but—"

Keith stepped closer, really closer than he needed to be. It was a little intimidating, but Keith wouldn't hurt him. "But?" He demanded.

" _But,_ I . . . lost. He hit me so that my helmet fell off. I don't know if it was on purpose or not, but—and then _he_ took _his_ off, and I know a lot of Galra have questionable appearances, but this guy really just looked so good!"

Allura stepped in again. "Focus, Lance, what happened after?"

Lance shook his head, not even really knowing himself. "I . . . was on the ground, and he was going to kill me . . ."

Coran stepped into Lance's view, looking concerned. "But . . . he didn't?"

Lance shook his head, honestly surprised himself. "No, I thought he really would, but . . . he just didn't."

There was a moment of quiet, before Pidge broke the silence. "The area was empty when Keith and I showed up—where could he have gone?"

Lance sighed, tired. "I don't know."

. . .

With every name that passed his lips, he pictured their faces behind closed eyes.

" _Mom_."

Building sandcastles, her skirt flowing in the ocean breeze, and her kind eyes.

" _Dad_."

Right next to her, one hand in his pocket and the other fondly at her back, laughing together.

" _Luis_."

Setting the table, reminding Sylvio to wash his hands. Looking at Lance and giving him a knowing look as he places the garlic knots in the center of the table.

" _Veronica_ —"

A knock at the door.

Lance blinked his eyes open, leaning back on the bed to look at the door. "Yeah?"

Keith peeked his head in, looking a lot like he simmered down. His hair was sweaty, and sticking to his face. He must have worked his anger out in the training room.

"Uh—I wanted to apologize."

Lance blinked. Keith? Apologizing?

It was a rare moment, and Lance wanted to drag it along as long as he could. He simply nodded, hoping Keith would continue.

Keith let himself in, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. "I'm glad you're okay, and I'm glad you followed your gut. You . . . you're a great paladin, and I'm sorry I made it seem like you didn't know what you were doing."

Lance shook his head, feeling the tightness in his chest ease. "Thanks, Keith."

Keith nodded, looking down at his shoes, before seeming to gain confidence. He took a step forward, standing stall. "But next time, don't go out on your own. We're all here to back you up."

Lance bit his lip, feeling almost giddy. "You got it."

Keith nodded again, this time with a small smile. "Goodnight, Sharpshooter."

"Goodnight, Leader."

As Keith shut the door behind him, Lance closed his eyes again, feeling lighter.

He laid back, and thought back to his family, when things were better. Every night, he promised each of them he'd never forget, no matter how long he had to spend galivanting across the known universe. He'd never forget.

" _Veronica . . . Marco . . . Nadia ._. ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment with your thoughts on this chapter, they always inspire me to continue!  
> This is fun XD A nice break from creating my own worlds from scratch. Fanfic is nice I think because the world is already there, and most of the characters are already there, and there's less to do.


	3. Claim Your Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is funnnnnn hope you like it 💜

Shiro stood tall in the living area of the Castle of Lions, unwavering and steady.

"Our mission on planet AX-3130 is to supervise and gather intelligence on the candidates competing for the Galra throne. Identify likely victors, potential threats, and as always, keep the peace. We will be discreetly spectating from the middle of the crowd on the western side of the arena from the entrance. I'm assigning teams—we're splitting up, but we still shouldn't go alone. Keith and Hunk, you two are a team—Team Alpha. Pidge and Allura, you'll be Team Beta. Lance and I will make Team Theta."

Lance paused, had to absorb what the black paladin just said—are they really on a team together? Just Shiro and him? _He's so cool—_ does Shiro think _he's_ cool? Or maybe he thought Lance needed to be babysat . . .

Their leader turned back. "Allura, set us down."

"On it."

"Alright everyone, make sure your comms are working. Sound off."

Everyone sounds off on comms, and once assured they're functional, the team prepared for drop-off.

Lance tried to calm his rattling nerves, listening in on Allura and Coran.

"T-minus forty tics to landing."

"Coran, activate the invisibility shields, we must maintain a low profile."

"Yes, Princess."

Keith and Pidge were talking in front of him, Keith fiddling with his gloves.

As they grew closer to the surface of AX-3130, Keith and Hunk attempted to boost morale a bit with some handholding.

Lance laughed internally, letting out a small smile when Hunk walked up to him and held his hand out. He grasped it in his own and pulled him in for a quick hug.

"Be safe out there, man."

Lance laughed. "You too. No eating unidentified alien food."

"Awe, come on! Some of it's really good!"

The blue paladin rolled his eyes, grateful for Hunk. He's always ready to have a good time, and Lance had to admire that about him.

Keith came next, with a gloved hand on Lance's shoulder. "Good luck, Lance."

"You too, Keith."

Pidge swung by for a quick fist-bump. "Let's do this, guys."

Shiro came to stand beside him.

Suddenly, the Castle jerked—definitely just landed.

Shiro moves out from behind him to stand before everyone. "Alright team, AX's atmosphere is pretty earth-like, but still thick. Everyone have their breathing assists? Bayards?"

Lance nodded, mentally reassuring himself it's still in his left inside jacket pocket where he left it ten minutes ago.

They each took some form of cloak—Lance recieved a black rain jacket over his clothes, Keith had his hoodie under some random jacket two sizes too big, and so on.

Lance piped up as they headed out, looking to lighten the mood. "Alright, nothing like a bunch of Galra battling to the death first thing in the morning, right guys?"

He would've preferred a mocha frap, but the nearest Starbucks was a couple lightyears away, so.

Pidge mumbled a tired, "Yeahhh . . ." while Hunk cringed beside her, looking anxious.

Keith just looked blankly over his shoulder at him, and Shiro seems like he hadn't heard him at all.

Lance tried to think on the bright side—this mission couldn't possibly be that bad, not with Shiro for a partner! Shiro was always going solo, or partnering with Keith, maybe this time Lance could really impress him.

He bite his lip. If he wanted to do that, he was going to have to tone down the antics—probably hold back on the jokes.

It wasn't that hard, as it turned out. All kinds of alien people came to see the trials, and as the team trekked across the dusty surface, they split further into the smaller groups. Eventually, Keith and Hunk were a few meters ahead, while Pidge and Allura hung back to his right side. He and Shiro hadn't said much, but Lance was too busy listening in on the awful conversations.

He didn't know many languages, but the way they would violently express themselves—slamming their fists together, crushing things in their hands—it was all bloodlust.

He didn't understand the Galra. Why did they have to fight to the death? Where is the honor in not accepting defeat? Wasn't it better to accept it, and grow from it? All that blood spilled, and for what?

Lance felt his mood darken. It was best this way anyway. He was too solemn for joking around, and he felt like Shiro might appreciate it. As he looked up at the black paladin, Shiro met his glance.

"Are you okay, Lance?"

Lance nodded, quick to reassure. "Yeah, yup!"

He didn't want to make Shiro worry, much less think of Lance as weak. He knew Shiro had been through a lot, so if Lance were to show how he really felt about all of this, Shiro might think less of him.

"So . . . how long do we have to be here again?"

Shiro met his eyes again. Lance couldn't help but notice how different he was now—in a whole different body.

"As long as is necessary—once we can narrow down the most likely candidate for the Galra throne, we can get out of here."

Lance was grateful to hear that maybe Shiro wasn't looking forward to this either. He seemed like he wanted to leave just as much as Lance.

It was a bit reassuring at least, and as the two of them neared the colosseum, the roaring crowds got louder. There was no form of peacekeeper—no guards, police, peace enforcers, nothing. They didn't have to pay to get in, just flooded into the entrance with the rest of the crowd.

It was tough following Shiro—as odd as he might've been by human standards, his black hoodie made it easy for him to blend into a crowd. But Lance was a sharpshooter, a sniper—his eyes knew what to look for, and he caught up in no time.

Shiro took a seat in the stands. As Lance finally caught up and took a seat beside him in the row above, Shiro leaned back to talk to him.

"Glad I didn't lose you, luckily you've got a good eye."

Lance couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face. "Thanks, Shiro. You're surprisingly good at blending in."

Shiro simply responded with a smile, before turning back to the arena. There, he saw a weirdly shaped, seemingly sentient alien with a microphone.

"Bo, bi bi bo— _bo bi_!"

Lance felt his jaw nearly hit the floor— _not this guy again!_

Lance outwardly groaned—Shiro even visibly cringed—because Lance swore if he ever saw this alien again, he'd launch himself into space without his suit.

So yeah, it got worse.

The first round of competitors were viscous—the Galra started out with three people to verse each other, as if the odds weren't already stacked. Over the course of the day, (11 hours, on AX-3130), Lance was forced to witness the Galra kill each other in the name of victory. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen, anything he hadn't been forced to do as a paladin . . . but it was exhausting.

He couldn't believe they had all been willing to kill each other. Why not just opt to surrender instead of fighting to the death? What good is there in signing your one and only life away?

But they did kill each other, and near the end, only few competing Galra remained.

Lance groaned, standing from his seat and stretching. He was just about ready to take another walk to the bathroom, get some fresh air and maybe a snack, when Bi Bo Bi announced the next fighters. Lance hadn't realized anything amiss until he was three stairs up and falling on the ground at the sight of the Galra on the screens.

_The man who tried to kill him_.

Lance's jaw dropped once more, and as he hurried to pick himself up from the stairs, he watched the man address the crowd in confidence, donned in his signature freakish armor and waving up at the crowd.

" _What_ —" he hissed, dusting off his knees and clenching his fists. " _What the quiznack?_ "

He watched carefully at the fight below, introducing two more Galra to fight him. The man looked similar to the day they had met, _fought_ —something regal about him that Lance hadn't seen in anyone but maybe Allura, in all her princess-y-ness.

Lance pressed a finger to his comms, frustrated. "Does anyone here speak Bi Bo Bi? Who's the guy with the purple and orange armor?"

" _I'm not sure,_ " Pidge mumbled.

So Lance forgot about snacking, and stood on the stairs as the Galra man he had met took on two of the remaining competitors with apparent ease.

Soon enough, too soon to be real, the Galra soldier had his two competitors on the ground, stripped of their weapons. He held his sword to their throat as he stood between them, and as the screens showed the three of them close up, he couldn't help but think back to when he was the one held to the ground at sword point.

He swallowed thickly, and tried to focus.

Would he kill them? Could he?

But the man hesitated, yet again. As he threw his sword into the ground beside him, causing his fallen opponents to flinch, he tucked a hand under the chin of his helmet and removed it.

His hair fell beautifully like it had that day, freeing itself from the helmet's confines.

As he looked out to the crowd with a brave face, chaos grew. Crowds of people began to whisper, shout, stand.

Hunk's nervous voice buzzed in Lance's ear. _"Guys, what's happening?"_

Lance tuned them out, honing in on a conversation a few feet away.

" _It's Prince Lotor! My stars, the son of Zarkon is challenging for the throne!_ "

Lance was glad for the hoodie of the rain jacket he wore to hide his face, because the shock on his face must've been evident. Zarkon has a _son_? And it's _this guy?_

Just then, a panicked Keith comes on comms to support the information. " _Guys, his name's Lotor. He's Zarkon's son, heir to the Galra throne!"_

" _What do we do?_ " Allura, worried.

_"Zarkon has a son?_ "

" _Guys_ ," Shiro said calmly, always ready to de-escalate the situation. Lance looked over to the black paladin as he spoke, hoping to find comfort in the stead of his former leader, someone he _still_ considered his leader. " _Everyone try to keep a clear head—we don't know what this guy's about, so pay attention and gather whatever information you can."_

Lance released a shaky breath and watched as Prince Lotor, the quiznacking Galran beauty from Nonstreiter, held his sword upward in challenge. Surrounded by the four menacing pillars of the arena, he looked truly fearsome.

The man finally spoke.

"Does anyone else wish to challenge me? _Come down and claim your crown_."

Lance couldn't help the shiver that passed through him—is that really what the beauty sounded like? Now that the paladin thought about it, it made sense, somewhat. There's no way someone with that much agility, grace, and raw power could be anything less than royalty.

A _prince_.

Zarkon's son.

_This is crazy_ —and he felt that way so much he attempted to shake it all out of his head.

With lack of response, Prince Lotor continued. " _True_ Galra, do not take the throne by stirring up insurrection in darkened chambers. They rise through honorable right of combat. Whoever finds the courage to defeat me here—the throne is yours."

The crowd continued to murmur, and as the prince looked out to them, one of his previous challengers rose from the ground. Lotor didn't seem to notice as she crawled over to her weapon a little ways away, and then, rose to her feet. Without hesitation, the Galra swung her large, curved blade at Lotor's back.

He had been expecting it.

He spun to the side, swinging his broadsword in one fluid motion so beautifully that his competitors' blade . . . _broke_.

Just . . .cut in _half._

Lance couldn't remember how to breathe as the Prince spoke again.

"Your tactics are stale, and in the end, your desperation is your undoing."

And slowly, steadily, Lance began to hear Lotor's name throughout the stadium.

_Lotor—Lotor—Lotor_ —

Each unanimous call beat against him with force that rattled him, the name echoing deafeningly in his ears. He couldn't hear anything the others were saying, but panicked as he saw Shiro move from his seat into the standing crowd.

As Lotor looked down on his fallen competitor as he had moment before, he lowered his sword yet again.

_So it's not just me that he wouldn't kill_ , Lance thought.

Lotor addressed the crowd once more. "My father built our empire on the bones of his enemies, but the time has come to change the old ways, and inspire not fear from those we rule—but _loyalty_. We must not waste our energy fighting to keep our subjects down, but rather multiply it by allowing those worthy to rise and join our ranks."

He held thousands of people in captive silence in that moment, including Lance.

"The universe can no longer doubt our strength—each ally gained only makes us _stronger_ , while those who continue to stand against us, will be _crushed_."

With his words, he held out his hand to his defeated competitors, helping them to stand. As they did so, the both of them put their fists over their hearts, and another wave of murmurs went out to the crowd.

" _Vrepit Sa_."

The Prince stood victorious as the crowds cheered for him. Then, as he retreated back to the tunnel he and the other competitors came from, all hell broke loose.

The people flooded the walkways, including the staircase Lance stood on.

His teams panicked voices could barely be heard over the deafening noise.

" _Shiro, what do we do? Keith?_ "

" _Can anyone hear me? We have to get back to the castle—_ "

" _Everyone meet back at the Castle of Lions!_ "

Shiro was already gone—so much for sticking together—but Lance thought about the tunnel Lotor retreated to. It must _lead_ somewhere, right?

If this is going to be how he impresses Shiro, he needed to get a move on. And, if he was being honest with himself . . . he wanted to see the prince up close. He wasn't sure why, but . . . he needed to know what really happened on Nonstreiter. Why come out and fight, just to end up not killing him?

Obviously, Lance was grateful—but it still didn't make complete sense, despite Lotor's peace monologue.

So he turned against the crowd, pushing his way past Galra and all the other aliens attending.

He broke into the hallway he intended to travel on his way to the bathroom moments ago—quiznack, he still had to go—but he walked past the bathroom to the empty halls that followed.

_Alright, the competitor's tunnels where about two floors down to the west_ . . .

He was brought out of his thoughts by a little _ding_ . . .

He stopped in his tracks, looking over his right shoulder. An elevator . . . nice!

Why bother going the long way when he could just take the shortcut? With that thought in mind, he hopped on, frowning for a second when the floor buttons seemed to only show Galra numbering. He hit the button two below the one that lit up, and hoped it was right.

On the way down, the deafening crowds began to fade away, the noise growing mute with each second that passed in his descent. There's no telling what could be down here, or who he might encounter—so as the elevator dinged again, he tucked his hand into his jacket under the rain coat and held tight to his bayard.

As they elevator doors opened, it's safe to say he wasn't really prepared for what he saw.

There were two aliens he had never seen before, but what he _did_ recognize were the suits they wore. Their armor was similar to Lotor's, which told him a couple things.

Firstly, they're the prince's guards, or worse, _friends_ —meaning he can't just knock them out if they come after him, it'll be a conflict of interest and a possible sign of aggression between Voltron and the Galra throne. Sure, they got mean with Zarkon, but the team really wanted to make peace with the Galra, and end the war. He couldn't just destroy that because he decided to be nosy.

Secondly, Lotor's close by, no doubt—so Lance was definitely heading in the right direction.

He cringed as the elevator dinged for the last time, interrupting Lotor's guards. They had been making out pretty heavily, forcing a light flush to Lance's cheeks, but the elevator sent their heads whipping in his direction.

He smiled sheepishly, "I'm just gonna—you know, I'm a big fan of Lotor's, so you two carry on, and I'll just see myself to—"

But the taller one growled viscously, sending panic through his body.

"You two have fun!" He shouted, breaking out in a sprint past them and down the dark halls.

A feminine voice called after him, "Hey, get back here!"

As he looked behind him, both of the aliens were following him.

_Quiznack—quiznack—quiznack_ —

As he turned to look in front of him, he yelped—as if he hadn't embarrassed himself enough in front of Lotor's guards. Another Galra was waiting in front of a doorway, her eyes wide when she saw him round the corner.

She was quick to get ready for a fight, lowering herself a little closer to the ground, but Lance had to think quick, and his only option was to get even lower than the Galra.

With panic tight in his throat, he threw himself down and slid on his knees like he was playing Olympic limbo—

" _What the_ —"

Time kind of slowed down as he passed beneath her, so he had a second to realize that she was actually kind of cute. He threw a wink up at her shocked expression, smirking as she reached down with insane speed to grab at him, but all she caught was his rain coat.

It tore off him with the force of her grasp, and as he rose from the ground, he couldn't help but try his charm.

"The name's La— _ah_!"

His heart jumped into his throat for a second as he stumbled backward. As he slid to his feet, he'd ended up eye to eye with the Galran prince.

The regal man frowned, seemingly at a loss for words as he held his breastplate in his hands, underarmor unzipped so that the top half hung around his waist. His eyes regarded Lance with estranged curiosity it seemed, intense but tamed.

Lance couldn't believe what'd he done—he'd walked in on the _Galran prince_ who _almost killed him_ while the man was _undressing_ . . .

What a _nightmare_.

"Oh— _uh_ , I—d-d- _didn't_ —"

But Lotor's guards caught up quick, hands at his wrists and neck to hold him in place. He cringed—not really in the mood to be restrained, but—

"Halt, Zethrid. Ladies, if you would kindly release him."

The shorter alien frowned. "But Prince—"

"Ezor, please, you know full well I dislike repeating myself."

Embarrassed, Lance stood straight as the hands left his body. Frowning, he rubbed his abused wrists.

Lotor stepped toward him, placing his breastplate on the bench in front of him.

"Paladin—I take it you've met my generals?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay how was that?! Idk if you noticed but I included Lotor's original speech, with minor edits to fix the context. If you wanna hear his peace monologue it's on youtube 😊  
> Also - shirtless Lotor eh? 😏 Haha, let me know what you think with a quick comment down below, I'd love to hear from you 😘


	4. Here to Supervise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a discord server for my stories! There's already some discussion for ABLY, so here's the link to join!  
> https://discord.gg/Nv7sBXa

". . . I have to pee."

He said it in panic, mostly, but in his panic he felt like he _really had to pee_. And sure, the paladin armor had that cool feature Pidge fixed up for long missions, but he wasn't about to sit here and secretly pee in front of the Galra Prince, that's just _weird_.

It was comical though, the way the Prince's regal features twisted into adorable confusion. A moment ago, the guy had been hot and intimidating, but now he'd just thrown him off his guard. His cheeks even look a little flushed.

"Oh, um—Acxa, escort our esteemed guest to the restroom please, and return . . . with haste?"

He managed to keep some of his cool, but he's obviously flustered. Lance couldn't help but find it . . . _cute._

He turned to the alien girl who he had slid under moments ago. She's cute too, yeah, but _Lotor_.

She seemed more annoyed than anything while guiding his way to the bathroom, and he was embarrassed even further for taking so long in there, but quiznack he couldn't figure out how those toilets were supposed to work— _how was he supposed to flush?_

When they returned from the restrooms, she walked very closely behind him, like she was afraid he might run.

And honestly? He was tempted.

But he lost his window of opportunity, and as he neared the prince's rooms, he heard a sudden flood of voices through his comms.

_"Lance, you're still out there?"_

_"Lance are you good buddy?"_

_"Lance tell us you're okay, at least!"_

_"I might be able to have Rover track him down, maybe I can get a signal off his comms if I get close enough—"_

Lance sighed. _Took them long enough_ —but he stopped himself. The other paladins cared about him, they wouldn't want him thinking this way.

"I'm okay, guys."

 _"Well what are you doing, return at once!"_ Allura sounded like she couldn't believe him.

Keith growled. _"Lance, I called everyone back to the Castle to make sure we'd all be safe, you can't just ignore orders whenever it pleases you—"_

Lance scowled, ready to question that "orders" part when the Galra girl ripped his comms out.

His hand flew up to his ear as if that would somehow stop the throbbing. "Hey! That hurt!"

Acxa seemingly just didn't care, pushing him back into Lotor's dressing rooms.

Quiznack, the man had all that time to put a shirt on and still chose not to?

Before he could say anything, Acxa spoke. "My lord prince, he's a _spy_ —"

Lotor scowled, the faintest of frowns curling his lip. "Nonsense. Paladin, explain yourself."

Lance flushed as everyone turned to him, but kept his cool. "I'm here with the other paladins to supervise, that's all. We wanted to help make sure the trial went smoothly, and intervene should it have gone wrong."

The red one with the long, spriggy ponytail thing attached to her head stepped forward. _She's cute too._

"Are you sure you hadn't intended to _supervise_ Prince Lotor?"

He put on a charming smile. "He is part of the trial, so technically I'd have to say yes. After all, I _am_ a paladin of Voltron. It's my duty to oversee entire systems, including this one. Keep everyone safe . . . the _usual stuff_."

Lotor rose to his feet, towering over Lance and making him feel small. The paladin's nonchalance disappeared quickly with the Prince's approach. He winced internally, but if he cowered under this guy, he'd seem a fool.

After all, he isn't a paladin of Voltron for nothing.

"And how many of your paladin friends have accompanied you on your little trip down to my . . . _temporary_ chambers?"

Lance frowned, and didn't know if he should be grateful or embarrassed of his answer.

". . . None of them."

Lotor simply raised an eyebrow. "All alone again, then? Just like on Nonstreiter . . ."

The prince pressed a hand to his chin in thought. Lance took the opportunity to quickly take in the man's form. No wonder he's so dang fast on the battlefield, with all those abs?

Lotor then stepped back to lean against the high bench, resting his hands leisurely at his hips. "Do you like what you see, Paladin?"

Lance gulped, blinked hard as Lotor's generals made varying noises of protest.

"Come on Lotor, really?"

". . . My Lord Prince, what are you doing?"

He shooed them away, though, the look on his face one of a predator closing in on its prey. "Give us some time, generals."

Lance tried a charming grin again. "Come on, ladies, that's not necessary!" But they continued to file out of the room, looking almost bored.

Great.

"Have you yet found an answer to my question, my sweet?"

Lance felt goosebumps rise at the pet name the prince—the _prince_ —just gave him.

"A-are you . . . are you flirting with me?"

The prince barely seemed to have heard him, but after a second, his smile widened. "I might be."

Lance could only stand there, confused out of his mind. _It's really weird being on the other side of the borderline shameless flirting . . ._

Oh, and how embarrassed he'd be if the others heard what he was saying!

He felt guilty as he turned his comms offline, but it was for the best. He'd tell them what happened, and they'd understand.

Lance felt the door slam more than he heard it, fighting to keep his game face on despite the cold sweat that his nerves brought. With a few seconds of mustered-up courage, he straightened his spine, and looked the Prince in the eye.

"Why didn't you kill me on Nonstreiter? You had the perfect opportunity, but you let me live. I . . . just want to know why."

The prince looked entertained, if nothing else, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his fist with an elbow at his knee. He made the bench look like a throne.

"I couldn't kill something so pure. You should've seen yourself . . ." The prince shook his head, a small smile on his face like he was actually feeling nostalgic.

Lance frowned as he ended it there. "That's it? I'm . . . pure? How? There has to be a _real_ reason—"

Lotor looked mildly irritated now, but seemed to have a good amount of patience. "True purity is a scarce resource, thanks to my father. We find little of it, scattered across the expanses of our universe. Even in children, it has begun to fade, as my father rages his war throughout their home worlds. There is no wrong in preserving what is pure, my dear Paladin."

Lance didn't know what to say to that, so he stuck with what he knew. "The name's Lance, ya'know."

The prince titled his chin upward, rising once more from his seat at the bench. Towel over his shoulder, under armor zipped only enough to cover what's most important, Lotor swaggered toward him with confidence and charm that should've been illegal— _super, super illegal_ —

To his surprise, Lotor got right up in his space, pressed so close to him they were almost touching, and leaned down to Lance's ear.

From here, he smelt the salt of sweat and iron, likely from his armor, and a hint of something unrecognizable. A single strand of ghost-white hair fell from his shoulder onto Lance's cheek, and it caused him to flinch against his own will.

Lance gritted his teeth as the crown prince smiled against his ear, whispering with soft breath.

"A pleasure, _Lance_ . . . I have hopes I should see you again, soon."

The prince lingered beside Lance for a moment, before leaning back and giving Lance room to breathe properly.

"Until then, my sweet, I am unfortunately going to have to request your departure. I have matters to attend to, and your friends await your return, do they not? T'would be a shame to worry them over this, one would think."

_There he goes with the pet name again._

But Lance nodded, completely at a loss. Just as he did, Acxa perfectly timed her entrance, holding the door open for him in a clear suggestion for his exit.

He cringed, and fought off a blush. Hopefully she wasn't listening that whole time, but it's best he left before he did anything _super_ embarrassing.

As Zethrid and Ezor escorted him away, he couldn't help but think back on the prince's words.

_Pure?_

_Lance?_

He's joking, right?

Lance felt his heart sink. And when the prince found out it just wasn't true?

He sighed, too stuck in his head to be polite with the generals. They didn't seem to care either way, most likely just wanted him gone.

Why would he be pure? He's done plenty of less-than-moral things as a paladin, and while they were for the greater good, that didn't change what he'd done, not to mention the unintentional losses he was still responsible for. He had hurt people, deserted people—not to mention he'd gotten intimate with plenty of people, maybe too many to be deemed _pure._

For some reason, Lance really didn't want to think about what Lotor would think of him when the Galra man found out he was wrong about him.

As he distractedly stepped out of the elevator, he heard a metallic sound, immediately followed by the pain in his forehead. The impact brought him right out of his thoughts.

" _Hey, what_ —Rover?"

Lance blinked at Pidge's little bot, and smiled. The thing was pretty adorable. He gave into the urge to pet the little thing, patting it gently on one of the pyramid's sides. It made a little noise, LED's blinking.

Lance laughed softly. "Nice to see you, buddy."

_"Nice to see you too, Lance."_

" _Ah!_ " Lance jerked back as Pidge's voice came out of little Rover's speakers.

"Pidge, what the quiznack? What have you done to Rover! He didn't deserve this," he falsely agonized, secretly happy to talk to his friend.

She wasn't in the mood for his games, ignoring his playful quip. "Lance, where have you been? You went AWOL like, half an hour ago. What's going on? Get yourself back to the Castle of Lions or I _swear_ —"

Lance cringed—it was more like a full hour ago now, but when Pidge swears upon vengeance, _she gets her vengeance._

"I'm on my way, I promise," he assured with a grimace.

Rover just beeped.

He sighed, walking along the first level of the stadium, balancing effortlessly along each row of benches instead just using the walkways. It's more fun this way.

As he grew closer to the center, the arena was empty, save for the pale-yellow sand and a few leftover bloodstains. He hopped over the barrier, walking straight through the arena. Rover followed dutifully behind him, as he trudged along, in no rush at all, spinning and swaying and looking upon the empty seats and imagining them as the cheering masses that had been here moments ago.

He stopped in the center, just to look at the expanse of the stadium. How enormous it seemed to him, despite his experiences. He'd seen much bigger things—planets, entire solar systems. This should seem like nothing to him—he was used to feeling small—but something about this place felt strange.

Rover beeped again, and Lance sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'm going."

He felt a little bummed out as he moved on, smiling sheepishly as he emerged to the few lingering groups of people outside the stadium.

Lotor has the complete wrong idea about him, which is especially worse since Lance got humiliated in front of Galra prince, not to mention the butt-chewing he was about to get from the team.

The walk grew into something bitter. People called out to him, trying to pick a fight. He had to ignore them, but all the while thought about the fact that he and Shiro were supposedly Team Theta—a fancy name for two people I guess, no teamwork involved.

Shiro claimed dividing into the teams would help us keep each other safe, but where was he now? Back at the castle! The black paladin didn't even _come back for him_.

Nobody did—they sent _Rover_.

His silent comms earpiece swung from his shoulder where it was attached to his jacket collar. He wouldn't put it back on.

It was a long walk, much longer now that no one was around, but he was grateful to at least have Rover as company. The little bot was easy to talk to.

He wouldn't talk now, though, not now that he knew Pidge could communicate through the thing.

He was also glad to have Rover, because he would've gotten lost in the tree cover they had to hide the Castle behind.

The Castle was enormous, as always, and guarded by the invisibility shields. The only reason Lance knew it was here it because of the conspicuously large gap in the trees, so he let Rover lead him to the entrance. He tripped over the ramp, which was great for improving his mood, but finally entered.

He knew they'd be waiting in the main room, all cross-armed and brooding, but despite how much he wanted to avoid it all and escape to his room, he knew he had to at least assure the paladins that he was okay, and debrief them on his meeting with Lotor.

He cringed—he'd have to hide some things, most of the conversation, really, but those parts weren't important.

As he stepped in, it was exactly like he pictured it.

They spun around, and the moment they recognized it was him, they put on the offenses. Except for Hunk of course, but he still looked worried.

Pidge looked dangerously calm. "I couldn't track you, wherever you were. We've been worried about you."

 _Yeah_ , he thought. _So worried that you went back out to search in the "half hour" he was gone_.

Allura stepped forward, looking guarded. "Lance, what were you doing away from Shiro? Staying in our teams was crucial to the effectivity of our mission."

Lance felt his mood darken further, his brows tilting downward. "What was _Shiro_ doing away from _me_? Did you even ask? And I was gone a lot longer than that, I guess you just didn't notice."

A moment of silence passed over them. Keith looked away, expression portraying his barely-concealed fury. But he was one to talk—he did stuff like this all the time just because he _felt like it_ —and since he flew Black now, they all had to deal with it.

Hunk stepped toward him, reaching for his shoulder with a steady, comforting hand. He looked up at his friend of many years, and saw only concern—no judgment. Something about Hunk he would always be grateful for.

"What happened out there, man?"

Lance sighed, let his tense shoulders fall with his breath. "I . . . in the chaos, I found Prince Lotor."

Everyone was surely shocked, broody glares transforming into wide-eyed surprise.

Well, that's better, at least.

He quickly came up with a half-truth.

"His generals caught me on the way to the bathroom, and thought I was there to hurt Lotor. I managed to get past them, but only ended up running into the guy—"

" _What?_ " Allura looked furious.

Lance fought down the flustered feeling that had begun growing. "Nothing bad happened, we just talked. He . . ."

He debated for a second. Should he be telling them about Nonstreiter?

He bit his lip. "He just said he recognized me as a paladin, talked a little more on peace and stuff . . . he doesn't seem to agree with Zarkon's methods at all. He . . . he said he hoped to see us soon."

Shiro frowned, in thought. "So, he intends to make some sort of alliance with us against his father?"

Pidge perked up. "That would be really good news, then. Nice, Lance."

Lance managed a small smile, thankful that the vengeful girl wasn't mad at him.

Keith spoke up, always ready to provide the alternative. He did that long before his missions with the Blade of Marmora, but they became more frequent afterward. He just never liked to get his hopes up. "Guys, he could just as easily be lying about everything. His father is _Zarkon_ , I doubt he's beneath a little lying and cheating."

Lance frowned, stomach turning at the insults Keith threw at the prince. The Prince . . . had been so _kind_ , he wouldn't do that, right?

Lance sighed. Keith was right. He could just as easily be playing games.

"Well," he said, "Maybe we'll figure it out when Allura arranges an audience with him or something—"

"Excuse me," The princess interrupted, still looking every bit angry. "What leads you to believe I'll be requesting an audience with _Zarkon's son_? The Prince of the _Galra_?"

Keith scowled. "Allura, cool it."

She looked at him for a moment before releasing a heavy breath, splaying her hand across her face, fingers on her forehead like she's trying the push her headache away with that fancy Altean alchemy she's been learning.

"I just don't trust the son of the man who has tried, multiple times, to kill us, and steal the lions."

Coran, hanging around in the background and fiddling with the controls, jumped into the conversation. "Well, we should at least try, shouldn't we? Who knows—Zarkon's son on our side could turn the tide, and give us the strength we need to defeat he and the witch."

Allura looked almost defeated. "I'll think about it."

Pidge pet Rover, distracted, and nobody else spoke a word. Hunk's hand fell from his shoulder.

Without Hunk to hold him back, he turned and wordlessly left to his room.

He thought it might be time for a nice, long nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Comment and Follow 💕


	5. A Joyride to Infinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a slight, slight astronomy nerd 😅 space is beautiful and unknown and I'm so damn fascinated by it! Who's heard of the new emergent gravity theory?!?! It explains dark matter, and connects the gaps between sciences that people have been trying to connect forever!!  
> Please excuse spelling mistakes and such. My laptop is down, I have to write with my phone!

Lance didn't get any sleep.

Instead he lay, exhausted and hardly awake, on his bed.

Last night, he was ready for a full night's sleep, only to be torn apart by the fact that he couldn't remember her face.

His niece's face.

Every night he went over it all—and the longer he spent away from Earth, the more it felt like his life had been a dream. Every night, everyone's name, their faces, his favorite memories. Because he swore to them he would never forget, not for a moment. Not while fighting Zarkon, and not while saving entire systems of planets. Not even while just having a meal with the paladins, or riding Red.

But last night . . .

His little niece . . . her face was a blur.

And he'd never, _ever_ felt so guilty.

And he lay there still as Kieth burst into the room.

He turned, barely having the energy to do so, to face the red paladin.

Kieth held his jacket by the collar in his gloved hand, his other hand on his hip like he does when he's being all angsty, and . . . _Kiethy_.

His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his breathed slightly ragged—and then Lance knew why he was there.

"First your field trip with the trials, and now skipping training? Allura's furious, by the way."

But Lance couldn't bother to care, just wanted to remember his sweet niece's face—Nadia—he'd _sworn_ he'd never forget—

The accusatory edge left Kieth's tone. "There's something wrong. Lance, what is it?"

No sooner had Kieth finished his sentence, when Lance blurted it out. "Nadia, my niece—I can't remember what she looks like. I can't remember her face, or how tall she is. I . . . I'm _forgetting them_ . . ."

"Hey," his gentle voice, and an equally gentle hand on his shoulder. Kieth sat himself on the edge of Lance's bed. "Lance, we've been away from Earth for a long time. Everyone . . . we're all missing our families. You're not alone. And you won't be alone when we all get to go back to Earth and see them again. You'll recognize Nadia the moment you see her with the rest of your family, and she'll remember you. I know the memories get blurry . . . but you haven't forgotten her, not even close."

Lance swallowed, nodding during a moment of silence, and then, "Is it too late to train?"

Kieth gave a half-smile, nudging Lance's shoulder as he stood from the edge of the bed. "I'll meet you in the training room," the red paladin said, as a way of ending the conversation.

He never did like goodbyes.

. . .

Kieth was already a skilled fighter, especially with his Galran dagger, but put a sword in his hands and he turns into a _beast_.

Lance liked training with Kieth because he never held back. Training is never just training with him—he brings it all to the ring.

Lance was sure he'd never be as good as he was without the time he'd spent training with Kieth. Even then, Lance's true skill lay in his sharpshooting—give him a crushed can at a couple hundred yards, he could probably shoot a smiley face into it.

As they pressed their blades together, both straining with the effort, the two of them wore dangerous grins.

"Ready to concede, cowboy?" Lance taunted.

Kieth gritted his teeth, smile widening in challenge. "You should know me better than that."

Kieth gave in, and Lance jolted forward with the lack of resistance. Before he could get his bearings, Kieth already used his momentum to throw him to the ground.

Lance was still smiling as he tried to catch his breath with the floor at his back. Kieth grinned, barely breathing hard, above him. The team leader offered a hand, and Lance didn't hesitate to take it.

He leant in for a relaxed, half-hug. He pulled Kieth in with the hands clasped between them with his other arm around his back.

 _Quiznack, he's still taller_.

"Feel better now, Sharpshooter?"

Lance shook his head amusedly, but before he could agree, Allura's distressed voice sounded through the speakers.

_"Everybody, meet in the den. Prince Lotor has made contact, and formally requested an audience."_

The prince's name echoed in Lance's head as he blinked at Kieth, who simply gave a grumpy shrug in return.

So their training time was cut short.

Lance tried not to let it affect his recently lightened mood—but his attention was stolen by the sound of Lotor's voice echoing down the hall leading to the den.

Lance and Kieth looked at each other again, wary as the Prince's words met their ears in echo.

" _Paladins of Voltron, know that I contact you in peace. I am Prince Lotor, son of Zarkon. I know that my father hunts you, but hear me: I do not ally with my father, nor do I approve of his decisions as reigning leader of my race. I believe it is time to usher in a new era of peace—"_

The doors opened, and on the largest screen, the silver-haired prince spoke. It was strange seeing him again—Lance felt like AX-3130 might've been a hallucination.

But this was real, and so was the prince. The pre-recorded video continued it's broadcast to all of the paladins.

" _. . . and together, we may form the greatest alliance in history. You, the heroic paladins of Voltron, saviors of the universe, and I, as leader of my people, will restore the universe's cultures and peoples to what they had once thrived as. All I ask is that you give me a chance. Thank you for your time, and I have hopes I should hear from you soon."_

The Prince looked right at the camera, and let a smirk creep onto his face, a mischievous fang peeking out from his lip.

"Vrepit sa, _and glory to mankind_."

The video froze as it reached the end, and Lotor's words replayed in Lance's head, accompanied by that fanged grin.

Pidge spoke up first. "When did we receive this?"

"Just now," Coran answered. "We watched it once before calling you all here."

Shiro thoughtfully scratched his chin. "It's highly probable that the Prince could just be a fantastic liar, but to reach out to us like this—we can't ignore it. We'll have to think through our reply carefully."

The yellow paladin swallowed whatever he was munching on before speaking. "Maybe I can set up a formal meal? I've been looking into some really good looking Galra recipes, I could prepare something—"

Allura glared at Hunk, and Lance immediately grew sour at the action. "Let's first discuss whether or not we truly intend to agree to a formal meeting. This is the son of Zarkon we speak of! We cannot trust him, no matter what talk of peace comes through his lying mouth—"

"Allura, _stop_." He wished he hadn't spoken, as all eyes turned to him, but he continued. "You're judging him before even having met him!"

"Don't be ridiculous Lance, this is _life or death_. Just because you met him for five doboshes, you're suddenly an expert? You suddenly get to tell me who I should and shouldn't meet with?"

The rest of the group had been stunned into silence. That included Lance.

Sure, he knew Allura got a little aggressive when stressed, but . . .

"Do what you want, I don't care," he said, feeling defeated.

He left without another word.

. . .

Red knew he was coming.

He made his way to his lovely lioness, but couldn't help glancing at Blue.

Blue remained dormant, and didn't show the slightest sign of acknowledgment.

Lance missed the days he spent piloting Blue. When he was new blood, fresh out of the academy. He had dreams, and hope, and yes. Some of that remained.

But he was a different person now. He had to be, since the whole Shiro fiasco, with Kieth becoming the pilot for Black. That left him to pilot Red, and while he loved Red, and he felt honored that Kieth chose him to be at his right side—

Lance almost wished he hadn't.

Lance gave Red the best grin he could muster. "Hey girl, how are ya?"

She gave a soft growl, and he laughed.

"Wanna go for a ride?"

Red roared, slightly louder, and leant down to let him board.

His heart was heavy, but if there was anything that could lift his spirits, it'd be a joyride across the galaxy.

As he sat in the pilot chair, he felt something open inside him, like a doorway of some sort. He met Red there, and it was when he got to pilot his lion that he knew he wasn't alone.

He wondered how long it would last.

He trusted his lion, but after having to leave Blue . . . after Blue just stopped responding to him, he found he couldn't really fully trust the lions, either.

Or anyone, really.

Bonding with Red—Lance felt restless all the time, more impulsive. Sometimes this came in handy, but other times? He just felt like a carbon copy of Kieth, just not as good.

He gritted his teeth, and as the port opened from the side of the Castle of Lions, he met the open vastness of space.

"Let's go, girl," he encouraged, and pulled back hard on the throttle.

Red jolted forward with insane speed, stars in the distance blurring.

He let himself go for a moment, enjoying the power he felt all around him—Red's power that she shared with him.

And he was grateful.

He checked his radar and lidar map scans—and there was a planet, just a few light-minutes away.

"What'd'ya say we take a little vacation, Red?"

Red roared, loud and mighty, and every ounce of metal around him quaked with the force of it.

He laughed. "Let's go, girl!"

. . .

He wouldn't dare get too close.

The planet Ma'at seemed a land of dust and wind, with a few rings along it's equator. It would've been pale brown, but it's two moons reflected the light of it's central star, casting a setting, warm glow on the planet.

It was beautiful.

Lance thought, out of everything that he had been through out in this infinity, one of the good things to come out of it would be the views. Every planet was different, every moon, every asteroid and meteoroid.

He could see the colors of the stars, some blue, some red, and some indiscernible. He could see other planets in the distance, and asteroid belts, like the Kuiper belt from his home system.

Galaxies, forming, or dying—quasars, and occasionally, a black hole.

He smiled. He'd have to ask Pidge about what she thought of Verlinde's new theory of emergent gravity. If they ended up finding another black hole, Pidge and Hunk might want to study the "dark matter".

The warm glow faded from Ma'at's atmosphere, so with leisure, he locked on to the castle's coordinates and flew at half-pace, putting his feet up on the dash.

You know, with Red's permission, of course.

He leant back, feeling a bit better even, and ready to go back to the castle when his monitor beeped with an incoming broadcast.

He sat up, expecting it to be one of the paladins, but he frowned at the screen.

 _Grant permission to allow_ Prince Lotor _to broadcast live?_

Lance's pulse immediately began to race. If he agreed, who knows what the Prince would wrap him into? If he denied the request, it sends an unfriendly message, and who even knows if Lotor and his generals aren't watching from afar?

He bit his lip, and before he could second guess himself, he steeled his expression and posture, and pressed the button to allow the transmission.

Lotor's face came onto the screen as it had in the den, only this time, it was a live transmission—there would be no finesse of a practiced, prerecorded video.

The Prince's golden eyes studied the blue paladin, and Lance let himself do the same.

Still in his armor, hair still flowing easily over broad shoulders. The prince rested his head on his hands, his elbows on the dashboard of his control panel.

Lance fought the urge to bite his lip. "Hello, Prince Lotor."

"Hello, Lance."

Lance felt a flush rise to his cheeks, and he really wished the Galran man wouldn't say his name in that lethally charming tone.

But Lance reminded himself that he had to tread carefully—he had to be a paladin now. Like it or not, all discussion with Lotor had to be flawlessly executed, because there's no changing his position among the Galra, and the universe's leaders.

"I have to say, Lance McClain, you do look . . . _heroic_ in your paladin armor. Though . . ." The prince frowned, and Lance fought to keep still at the inspection.

"Although?"

Lotor regained most of his composure, but couldn't hide the cute, confused wince. "Is your armor purple? You are . . . the purple paladin, then?"

Lance frowned at his armor—he supposed, in Red's scarlet lighting, the blue on his armor looked violet.

"Ah—no, I'm the blue paladin. My armor is blue, it just looks purple in the light—"

"But you fly the red lion? I must begrudgingly admit that I fail to see the logic in such a system."

Lance shook his head, fighting a weird smile. "No, no—Kieth is the red paladin. He flies Black now, though."

Lotor frowned. "But . . ."

Lance couldn't help but laugh, and he almost felt guilty for losing his composure like this. But . . . the other paladins weren't here.

"Alright then, never mind that matter, though I highly suggest you sort that mess out."

As he paused, Lotor's fanged smirk made a reappearance.

"Let's cut to the chase. _Lance, I need you to help me with something_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! Fanfic is funnnn! How are you guys?  
> Comment, Follow, and Join the Discord <3


	6. On the Flip Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got a genius idea for this fic. It's sooo hard not to spoil!!!

The urge to smile left, leaving Lance cold. "Lotor, you can't ask this of me."

Lotor frowned, not really malicious, just more like he's used to getting his way.

"Why not, Blue Paladin?"

Lance turned his chin up, but looked downward in thought.

"I mean this with all due respect, but . . . how can you ask me to trust you?"

Lotor sat forward, looking over Lance with caution. "If I'd wanted to kill you, I'd have done it on Nonstreiter."

Lance couldn't really argue with that—plus, Lotor never even tried to kill his competitors in the matches—but while he wanted to trust the man, Lance knew better.

How many times had they trusted foreign dignitaries and taken a blow? How many times had the naivete backfired on them? They couldn't afford to trust so quickly— _Lance_ couldn't afford that.

"Lance, I know I ask much of you. Just tell me you'll think on it a while longer. You don't need to make your decision now."

Lance merely nodded, feeling the ever-widening rift in him gape at the decision he now had to make.

Lance wished he could've made his words sound stronger than they did. "Why me? Why am I so different?"

Lotor met his gaze and held it, and Lance felt nausea swimming in his stomach.

"Lance, I may be wrong, but . . . I feel the other highly esteemed paladins you befriend . . . well, I feel they mistrust me to the point where it would hinder their rationale. I know you can think through his clearly."

Lance wanted to say something, anything, tell Lotor he was wrong, but his voice caught in his throat. _He's just flattering him to sway him to his side_ , he told himself. He probably doesn't even think that . . . _Lance was just the weak link._

"I'll leave you be, Paladin, but I request that you think on my offer."

Lance shook his head to himself. "And how will I reach you?"

"If I may have your personal contact to message you, I propose—"

"No," Lance interrupted.

Lotor couldn't be in charge of the whole plan, too many things could go wrong.

"No, you can give me _your_ contact info, and I'll message you, if and when I see fit to decide on your offer."

Lotor grinned, and Lance grew frustrated at the sight. "Of course, Paladin. I suppose I shouldn't have bothered to try that one."

Lance furrowed his brows, aiming for a glare. "No, you most certainly shouldn't have."

Lotor frowned, leaning back in his chair. "My apologies for any offense, Paladin McClain."

Lance squeezed his eyes shut—if Lotor could just stop saying his name like that . . .

"I'll contact you as soon as it conveniences me," Lance said, a risky move. He couldn't afford to dote on Lotor's princely attitude, so he had to play a dangerous game, and dance on the line between confidence and arrogance.

It was a difficult line to find—Lance had never been all that confident.

Lotor smiles, though—nods and leans forward. "Very well, Paladin. Have it your way. I await your response. I believe you will make the right decision concerning the threat we all face."

With that, Lance's screen went blank.

He sighed, deflating, and buried his face in his hands.

As he dragged himself upright, he gripped the throttle loosely.

Under his breath, he muttered. "Let's go home, girl."

. . .

When he left Red's bay, he didn't expect to see anyone else there.

But there he was, his rival, his friend, clad in his Blade armor.

Keith stood with a duffel bag on his shoulder and mask in hand.

Lance tried to walk as casually but quickly as he could, catching up to Keith in a way he hoped was nonchalant.

" _Hey,"_ he yelled. "Keith, wait!"

Keith turned, continuing backwards.

Lance jogged toward him, feeling a bit lost with the sight of Keith's Blade of Marmora armor.

"Was just saying goodbye to Black," his leader said.

Lance stopped a few feet away, nodding. Now that he'd caught up to the red paladin, he wasn't actually sure what to say.

". . . How long will you be gone?"

Keith shrugged. "Kolivan's planning for a long-con . . . days, weeks, maybe."

It was then that Lance's hopes faded. "Oh," was all he could manage.

Keith just nodded. "I'll see you on the flip side."

Lance put on a smile, one that he wore all too often. "Yeah, you too buddy."

Lance gave a short wave, and watched Keith leave the bay area.

Then he turned, hoping to give Red some attention before he left, but his lion was already shut down, sitting back with the barrier up.

His smile fell, a small relief from having to hold it up. "Oh, okay . . . see ya, Red."

And he received no response.

As he turned from the bay entrance area and left to go to his room, he hoped that it was only paranoia haunting his thoughts that night. That yet another lion, something else he trusted, wouldn't leave him so suddenly.

He could only hope.

. . .

The next morning, Allura calls for a training session.

"Where's Keith?" She demands.

Lance shrugged, looking at the other paladins—they didn't seem to know either. "He left on a Blade mission."

Allura's eyes widened, and Lance prepared himself for the explosion. "He _what_?"

Lance flushed, not too comfortable having her anger directed at him. "He said Kolivan needed his help on a long-con, he might be gone for a while."

Allura threw a hand over her face in dismay, fingers at her temples. "For quiznack sake, first the fiasco on AX-3130, and now _this_?"

Coran looked worried, Hunk strained, and Pidge apprehensive. But Lance? Lance could only feel the rush of what could've been hurt or anger—both, even.

He scowled. "A fiasco? Really?"

Allura gave him an astonished look. " _Yes_ , Lance. That's _exactly what it was!_ A _fiasco_ —we still can't even properly work as a team, no wonder we haven't defeated Zarkon yet. You and Keith hardly seem to care about your positions as paladins!"

Lance fell back a step, and Hunk gave him a concerned look. Pidge even looked shocked.

He felt the anger curl into knots, winding and tensing. "You seriously think I don't care about being a paladin? Being a paladin is one of the best things ever to happen to me!"

"Well you're doing a marvelous job showing it."

And just like that, the thick silence settled over their shoulders with weight Lance wished he didn't have to carry.

His voice was quiet but hard with anger when he broke that silence. "The gladiator trials . . . that wasn't even my fault."

And he wanted so badly to act on his spite and throw Shiro under the bus, but he couldn't do it. Maybe Lance felt like Shiro messed up, but Shiro was still a great guy, and a great paladin. He'd saved his life, a couple times. Lance knew the urge to blame Shiro only stemmed from his own angst.

The princess scoffed and Lance witnessed Coran gently try to calm her before she shrugged him off. "Oh, is that so? Funny, seeing how you were the _only one_ missing, the _only one_ we couldn't contact! I suppose it's just coincidence then that you happened to stumble upon the Galran Prince while your communications were offline?"

Hunk stepped closer to Lance, wearing a serious look Lance wished the guy never had to use. "Whoa, Allura. Think about what you're implying right now. Lance is my best pal, I've known him for a long time, and I trust him. He'd never turn on us like that . . . right?"

Lance hated the lack of assurance in the yellow paladin's eyes at Hunk looked at him.

So, Lance looked him right in the eye and gave him the most serious, honest look he could. "I would _never_ betray that trust."

And he was glad that Hunk trusted him enough to believe him, because the guy brightened up at Lance's promise.

Pidge spared him a smile as well, and Lance knew that meant a lot in itself.

Allura shook her head to herself, hands on her hips as she looked down at her feet. "You'd better consider your actions carefully, Lance. I don't need to remind everyone of the genocide Zarkon committed against my _entire race . . ._ and countless others."

Lance cringed, and it was times like these were he wished Allura didn't have to suffer like she did—maybe she wouldn't have turned out to be so upset all the time. Plus, it's her prejudice against the Galra that strains her relationship with Keith, and throws a wrench in the trust our team has to uphold.

Man, what would she do if she knew Lance had another private conversation with the Prince?

Allura's shoulders drooped low, and she stepped down from the bridge. As she passed him, she looked exhausted, but it was as she approached that he saw the fire dancing in her eyes.

She slowed, and looked up at him. "Figure out which side you're on."

Lance felt something akin to a stab straight through his chest as he stood motionless, while Allura continued walking.

He sighed. For a team of legend, destined to save the universe? They really weren't much of the _team_ they were supposed to be.

. . .

Okay, _now he was panicking_.

Red wasn't responding to him _at all. Nada._

"Come on, girl. Not you too . . ."

Hmm . . . maybe it was time to change tactics?

Lance put on a charming smile, straightening his posture and dipping his head low. "Come on gorgeous, you know you can't resist me."

Still . . . nothing.

Lance's gut churned with anxiety—but it'd be way too embarrassing to puke in the bay.

So, pushing past a thick barrier of hesitation, Lance started walking backward. Eyes on Red, he took his time, letting Red give any indication at all that she's still responding to him.

But nothing.

With the burden that was his guilt, he finally turned around and left, leading himself to Blue's bay.

He entered with shoulders hunched, voice quiet and shaky. "Blue? Hey girl . . . you there?"

And _nothing_.

He swallowed thickly. "Y-You um—wanna go for a ride?"

Nada—nada—nada—

His fingers pulled roughly at his hair, slightly grown out because he just hadn't found time or interest in cutting it. "Oh man. _Oh man_."

He even made himself walk past the other lions. He couldn't force words out, but he still gave them a chance, despite his fear.

But every single one rejected him.

He couldn't let Allura know. _He couldn't let anyone know._

For a while, he let himself wander the empty halls of the castle. Passing every dark corner, he listened to the silence that surrounded him.

He grew jealous of the others—because it really must be so nice to have an unshakable bond with your lion. Pidge and Hunk didn't need to worry at all. Allura had no complaints about practically stealing Blue from him, and Keith was born to pilot black. Keith could still be himself piloting black, but Lance?

Blue and Red are polar opposites—so when Keith moved up, Lance was forced to pilot Red. And Red is great, of course, but it's not that surprising that she eventually stopped responding to him.

He was drawn out of his miserable thoughts by voices. Rather, Shiro's voice, and who Lance would assume is his boyfriend.

He thought against the idea, but ultimately . . . wound up standing outside the door.

Shiro's laughing. "Adam, you should be folding your shirts. This way, you wouldn't have to complain about the wrinkles."

Adam's voice came distorted through the video chat. "That takes way more time than I have, Takashi. Besides, I can't fold them nicely like you do."

Lance felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward in a smile, despite how heavy his heart felt at that moment.

Lance couldn't help but lean to the side, peeking in the open door. Shiro lay on his back, his arm somehow projecting a screen for Adam to show on.

Adam groaned, leaning back in his chair, and Shiro laughed at him. "Adam, it takes only a moment if done properly. Patience yields—"

"Yields focus, yes, I _know_ Takashi. I still hate folding laundry."

Shiro replied only with a smile, and Adam gave him a long look.

"Takashi . . . tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing, sweetheart."

"Oh, don't give me that. Tell me."

Shiro stared up at the ceiling. "I'm . . . just stressed. Everyone is tense, especially with how the AX-3130 mission went . . ."

Lance cringed as Shiro drawled on.

". . . and claims he spoke to Prince Lotor—"

"Whoa, Zarkon's son?"

"Yeah, and I believe him of course—but it's a little too coincidental for my liking. Lance can be naive, I don't want him going into anything unprepared, and certainly not alone."

Lance covered his mouth with both hands, just to stifle the anger that boiled in his blood.

How _hypocritical_. His hero—quiznacking Takashi Shirogane—the most awesome guy he knew, thought he needed to be babied. Thought he was stupid. Thought he couldn't even be left alone.

Lance kept a brisk pace as he pulled away from Shiro's door, turning down the halls to find his own room.

He shut the door behind him, and dimmed the lights so no one could see in. Once inside, he pulled out his laptop, modified by Pidge of course, and plugged in the data Lotor gave him.

A video call window showed up blank on his screen, but he kept a stern face on to be ready for the second the Prince answered.

He shouldn't have been surprised when said Prince _actually_ answered.

He blinked, golden eyes inquisitive. "Ah, Paladin of Vol-"

"You'll tell me exactly what you need me to do before I go through with anything. If, and only if, I choose to go through with it after hearing what you have to say, you will owe me a favor of my choosing."

The Prince's angular jaw went slack at the mouthful Lance just spewed, but his charm bounced back immediately. "Are you in your private chambers, Lance?"

Lance tipped his chin up, mostly to hide the blush that tinted his cheeks. "That's none of your concern."

Lotor nodded with a smile. "As you wish, dearest paladin."

Something black and fluffy moved across the bottom of his screen, and Lance faltered. He wanted to refrain from asking what it was, but the animal turned to Lotor and came into view.

Lotor had the courtesy for a quick introduction. "This is Kova," he said, and ran nimble fingers through the alien-cat's fur.

Lance had no words for the feeling that witnessing that created. Oddly . . . _personal_ of Lotor to share.

And he somehow always kept Lance on his toes. Lance would rather it be the other way around. "Yes, the muse for your armor, I presume?"

"Well, yes, I did—" Lotor cut himself off, freezing in place for a moment. His shock is quickly remedied with a laugh. A real, deep laugh.

Lance felt his heart stutter. "Just—just cut to the chase already."

Lotor revealed his palms, "Yes, of course. _Ahem_. The task I ask you to perform is no easy feat. It may not even work. This whole thing could get us nowhere, but if it does indeed work—"

" _What_ is _what_?"

Lotor let out a breath, giving Lance a tolerant grin. "I believe I've found something of great importance—something that, if I'm correct about its presence on Nonstreiter, could be quintessential in defeating my father and ending his tyranny. I can say no more over this line of communication."

Lance shook his head. "Are you saying that we have to meet in person?"

Lotor leaned into his hands, pressing his mouth to his folded hands. Not even that could hide the fang-toothed grin the prince wore.

Lance looked down at the keyboard. "Is all this really necessary? Why do you need _me_?"

"I cannot tell you over this line of communication Lance. I'm sorry for that, but the risk poses too great. I give you the choice of deciding our meeting place."

If Lance really wanted to be a quiznacker, he might've gone after Lotor for assuming he could give and take Lance's choice. But he clearly didn't mean anything by it.

"We can meet on the planetoid Sikloë, it's not in orbit, but near to Nonstreiter."

"Marvelous. I agree this Sikloë asteroid will be a good meeting place. But Lance . . . you cannot bring anyone. Only yourself."

That made sense, he supposed. "That goes for you as well. None of your generals, not even . . . Kova. Come only in a transport cruiser, nothing more weaponized or advanced. This is covert, right?"

"Indeed paladin. I agree to all your terms."

"And how can I trust you?"

Lotor gave a simpering smile. "Lance, I give you my word on behalf of my honor as Prince of the Galra."

He wasn't sure what good a guy's word could do, but his gut was telling him to go along with it. "Okay," he agreed. "In which case, I propose we meet on Sikloë at six-hundred hours."

"Why—that's quite a stretch of time, Blue Paladin, surely you don't mean—"

Lance scoffed. "No. No, no, no. Just—seven hours from now, got it?"

Lotor raised a challenging brow, and Lance took his opportunity to simmer down. "Apologies for my boldness, Prince."

Lotor gave a short smile. "Nonsense, paladin. You are quite alright. Seven . . . _hours_ from now."

Lance nodded. "Okay then. I will be holding you to your word."

Lotor tipped his head up, a single strand of white hair falling aside the bridge of his nose. Lance let it distract him as the Prince spoke.

"And I, you."

With that, the screen went blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ship them SO HARD. Ugh. Love them. I'm hype.  
> Join the discord, I'll be mostly interacting with people there, since Instagram and Twitter aren't as personal and I just don't use them much anymore. Cool stuff.  
> What do you think's going to happen? 😈


	7. The Failsafe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💜 Hi 💙

Lance had hardly slept.

The seven hours he had to wait were filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts. Always too many things to think about—Red _and_ Blue refusing him, Allura's distrust, Shiro's betrayal. Not to mention the secret mission he was about to go on, in spite of his friends, his _team_ , and alongside the Prince of the Galra, who they hadn't even established trust with.

Well, Lance had, the rest of them hadn't.

And could he even call that trust? _Hey, thanks for not killing me on a planet your dad was currently trying to enslave and conquer._

Quiznack, too many factors, _too many variables_ —

How could he keep it all in check? He wasn't even considered good enough to pilot any of the lions anymore. Could he really consider himself part of the team?

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts, and on instinct, he leapt backward with speed that only his paladin training had afforded him.

Shiro let him step backward, didn't follow him, but stood patiently where he had been.

"Lance, I'm glad I caught you."

Lance felt himself flush with the guilt. Did Shiro know? Did he hear him talking to Lotor?

"Why's that?" he asked, panic rising in his chest.

Shiro almost looked . . . _sheepish_. With a small smile, and a hand in his dyed black hair, his voice was quiet as he spoke. "I . . ." He seemed to gather his confidence for a moment, before letting his hands rest at his side. "I know you were outside my room earlier . . . When I was talking with Adam."

Lance had to hold back the visible flinch. Caught _eavesdropping_ on his _hero_. Just his luck.

 _No_ , he realized. _Just his lack of skill and tact_.

He cleared his throat, but Shiro did him the favor of continuing. Fortunate, since all of Lance's words seemed to catch in his throat.

"Look, Lance, I . . . I know I wasn't exactly considerate with my choice of words earlier . . . and I also know that I was in the wrong on our AX-3130 mission. I explained to Adam what I meant just after you left, but I need you to know too—that I never meant to demean your skill as a paladin, or your integrity as my friend. What I _should_ _'ve_ said, is that you have a good heart, strong will, and considerable talent. You are optimistic, even in the darkest of times, facing enemies far darker then we've encountered. I really respect and admire that about you Lance. It's a bright quality that I'd never seen in anyone I met before you."

Shiro paused to look up at him, but Lance had to duck his head—to hide the tears forming in his eyes, and the quivering in the corner of his lip.

"Lance, I have something else to confess. On AX-3130, I disappeared on you. I left you there, everyone there, even though you and I were a team. I'm sorry for that. I—"

Shiro's words seemed to catch in his throat, his eyes shut tight and his fists clenched tighter. Lance felt something akin to a fist twisting his heart in a strong grip.

"I . . . was scared. _I was scared_. I—when Zarkon held me prisoner, made me fight for their entertainment—I couldn't—that _place_ —the crowds, the arena, the call for blood—I couldn't do it Lance, _I couldn_ _'t do it_ , and—and I put you in danger because of _my weakness_ , _so I_ _'m sorry_ —"

"Shiro, _no_. I'm the one who has to be sorry. I should've understood. I should've _talked_ to you—" he felt his own fists curl inward, short nails digging into his palms.

"Lance, _I_ _'m_ the one who deserted a high priority mission, this is all my fault, and you deserved better as a member of this team, and as my friend."

Lance could only shake his head. And hold out his hand.

Shiro looked at the offer as if it was a reprieve from the weight on his shoulders, took his hand and shook it firmly. "It won't happen again Lance, I won't let you down like that again—I promise."

Lance could only smile. His hero cared—and his hero wasn't perfect. Nobody could be. "Me too, Shiro."

"Can I walk with you for a moment?"

That made him falter, the panic setting in once more. "Yeah," he said, mostly without thinking.

Shiro nodded his thanks with a smile, and strolled down the halls by Lance's side. Hopefully, Shiro didn't think about where the path led, because while he would most likely assume Lance was headed toward the red lion's bay, the hall also branched off to the transport bays and training deck.

 _The training deck_ , he realized with relief, just as Shiro asked.

"So where are you headed this early in the morning?"

Lance gave a false smile that came effortlessly—a falsity never noticed. "Training deck." He answered easily, tone light. "I need more practice with my bayard in sword form. Kieth's still a _little_ better than me, but not for long!"

It made Shiro laugh, and that was enough. But the new weight he felt, like an elephant on his chest—of tears held back and a blatant lie right as they had mended the gaps in their relationship—felt crushing. Left him feeling _empty_.

"Right," he said, breathy with soft laughter. "Well, Adam says he misses you. Your family invites him to dinners every now and then, and they all send their love."

The cherry on top of the cake—his _family_. It took everything right then to hold back the tremors that danced along his spine, small hiccups that started in his lungs. "That's great," a whisper from his lips, a contrast to his demeanor moments ago, and Shiro noticed. The attempted smile wasn't nearly enough to hold back the flood of homesickness that took over him.

Shiro began to walk sideways, just so he could put his real hand on Lance's shoulder, instead of the one made of garrison tech. It weakened Lance's knees to the point where he slowed to a stop.

Shiro gave him a small, understanding smile. "You'll see them again soon. They miss you so much, even the youngest little ones. They haven't forgotten you. Adam says they even save you a seat at dinner every night, right in your usual spot."

The tears fell then, against Lance's supposedly "strong will," staining his cheeks with what he felt was evidence of weakness.

Shiro wrapped an arm around Lance's shoulders, pulling him close. How long it had been since someone had _hugged_ him—he used to get a dozen hugs a day just being home in Cuba, but . . .

"We're all here for you Lance, even if we're all tense and on edge. We're a team, and that won't change, even when we clash a bit. I'll let you be for now, but I'll be in my room if you need me."

Lance couldn't tell his hero in that moment what that meant to him, but he watched the man he had admired his whole childhood walk away, and swore that he would make it up to Shiro— _he_ _'d make it up to all of them_.

. . .

Lance sat in the cruiser for a long time after that.

So what if he was late to the covert mission he'd planned—it took time to gather the strength, to empty himself of tears, and collect his thoughts.

The cruisers pilot area was small. At the same time, it was the biggest area of the cruiser. It wasn't big and comfortable like Blue, or Red. It didn't pulse with power and fill his blood with the rush of it. It was dead metal.

A tool. To accomplish what he had to.

It was just him this time. Communications line off, but full paladin armor donned. His bayard at his side, where it always should be, and just in case, a plain Altean dagger he found on the training deck one afternoon. A backup, tucked under the armor guarding his torso and in the waistband of his black under armor.

When he finally fired up the cruiser, the tears had dried on his face. Hopefully the Prince wouldn't notice. Hopefully, the Prince wouldn't betray him.

. . .

Sikloë was honestly beautiful.

The rock formations grew taller and steeper around it's equator, flattening into waves of plains further toward the poles. The rock was formed from some kind of impact, because the layers were obvious—colored differently in shades of violet and brown, occasionally clashing toward the high peaks of the equatorial mountain regions.

He landed with specific coordinates they had agreed on moments prior—along the flat edge of the mountains. The atmosphere was practically non-existent, but the magnetic field gave the radar some trouble.

He tucked the cruiser into an outcrop of rock, refusing to expose his one getaway vehicle. He couldn't afford mistakes right now.

Lack of sleep and excess crying made his eyes red and puffy, his cheeks splotchy but pale. If the prince noticed, it would expose a weakness Lance couldn't admit to. Not to a prince, not _this_ prince.

He moved forward alone, leaving the cruiser behind in its hiding spot. Sikloë hadn't much of a gravitational force, so he used his armors main thrusters to propel him to the more open plains area.

From here, all he had to do was look upward to see the small Galra cruiser headed toward him.

Lance flew himself to a high peak in order to make himself more visible, though he probably didn't need to. As the cruiser grew closer, his heart skipped beats as panic consumed him. _All the Prince had to do was start shooting_ . . .

But the cruiser landed softly and peacefully down on the planets surface. Lance wouldn't come down yet—not until Lotor came out alone and without weapons drawn.

There he was, in his signature freakish cat armor, helmet on. A small spark of disappointment shown in him then, being unable to see the prince's face, his hair—Lance kept that to himself. However, having seen what lay under that armor, Lance had to admire the fit.

Lotor looked around, immediately finding Lance perched on the mountain peak, kneeling. Lotor's face wasn't visible from the paladin's vantage point, but Lance could _feel_ the mocking yet charming grin the man was wearing beneath that helmet. Lance scowled. _Stupid Lotor, being so charming and all that quiznack_.

Lotor placed his hands on his hips, and Lance's thoughts ceased at the action. For what reason, he'd probably never know.

Then, the mans voice echoed from his place on the ground, the steep rock formations helping carry it. "Paladin, what in the stars are you doing up there?"

Lance smiled before he could think about it, and prayed Lotor wouldn't notice. "Just admiring the view," he called back, and nearly flung himself off the edge. He needed to stop flirting—this wasn't the time or place, and getting too close to the prince could hinder his objective reasoning.

Quiznack, flirting was just in his _nature_ , though—He could hear the paladins in his ears already, groaning in dismay.

Lance breathed deeply. He had to correct his behavior before it got him into serious trouble.

So he stood and let himself fall off the cliff. He saw Lotor step backward, but that's all before Lance let himself tumble and spin on his way down. The thrill of falling, without worrying about impact, or the dangerous vastness of space, was something he would always find joy in—he wouldn't hide this smile.

He landed on one knee, his fist forming a small crater even though the impact was nothing. As he stood, he observed the fanged smirk he knew was there all along.

"I have to say, I do admire your dramatic flair, Paladin McClain." His voice was smooth and level, as usual.

Lance allowed a small smile in return. "I don't know what you mean."

But the prince frowned. "You . . . are you alright, Lance? You look ill."

He couldn't hold back the frown. "Gee, thanks."

Lotor shook his head. "I apologize, truly, but should we be concerned by the apparent skin discoloration you've accumulated?"

"What—" _Oh_. "No, I'm fine."

And quiznack, he said it too quickly.

"I'm not ill," he tried again. "So start filling me in. What's our mission? What's so important that you can't tell me over a highly secured communications network?"

This seemed to be a sufficient distraction, thank everything. "Right. I have been researching this item for a large span of time now, and I have strong, evidence-based reason to believe I may find this item on Nonstreiter. It is called a compass stone."

Lance frowned. "What kind of compass would work in outer space? There is no direction, no up and down. It's all relative."

Lotor gave an indulgent smile. "Right you are, my sweet. This is a one-of-a-kind, ultimately rare and powerful item—"

"Wait, why do you need it?"

Lotor's brows furrow endearingly, and Lance found himself grateful at the lack of care for his interruption. "I told you, Paladin. This stone is a piece in a much larger game that we play against my father."

Lance tested the man. "And you're willing to do whatever it takes to defeat your own father? Even if it means ending his life?"

Lotor's jaw went slack, golden eyes wide. "Paladin, if you must know— _yes_. I am willing to go to whatever length I must to end his tyrannic reign. He is no true emperor. He and his followers stain the Galra race with shame—but many of my own people are trapped—because they either kill for Zarkon, or they are killed themselves. He has tainted our history, our culture, and our future with the blood and bones of civilizations. I will do whatever I must, and I ask you to help me achieve this. We have the commonality, it just makes sense."

The Galra man looked angry now—and Lance believed every word he said. "What do we do once we get the stone?"

Lotor bit his lip, and Lance's eyes unwittingly followed the action. "I have a theory, and it will need to be tested. We can only do so with the stone in hand. There may be . . . an _entity_ that is powerful enough to ensure our victory. However, the chances are sparse."

Lance glared. "You want to raise some kind of god? Are you sure it even exists?"

Lotor scoffed. "I wouldn't say _god_ , but an _entity_ with enormous, nearly infinite quintessence reserves . . . _The_ _failsafe_. My studies of the quintessence field led me to this solution, and like the compass stone, _you_ are the key to it all coming together."

Lance paused. The failsafe? Could he really hope

whatever plan Lotor is harboring?

He sighed. "Where is the stone? I know it won't be easy, if it's so crazy powerful. What do we have to face in order to attain it?"

Lotor shook his head. "I don't know. There are infinite possibilities, but I do know that you and I together pose a strong front, one that will likely be enough to complete the mission."

Lance shook his head, stuck in a gray area of wanting to and already trusting the Galra man, but knowing that he shouldn't.

Lotor seemed to take his silence as agreement, and grinned. "The entrance to the chamber is just this way, though first—" Lotor pulled Lance close, catching him unprepared. With an arm around his waist, Lance looked up at the now familiar fanged grin. _"Now, might I have a kiss for good luck?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alighty, another chapter down! I've been rewatching Voltron: LD to make sure everything is being done accurately (aside from the obvious) so that's been fun. Hunk teasing Keith about being Galra is so cuteeeeee! I forgot how much I love Keith as a character he's my baby.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter with a Comment, as well as taking the time to Follow me here on Ao3 and on my social media like the Discord for update progress, sneak peaks, more stories, discussions with me and other readers, and...just cause you love me 😘


	8. Crashing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic makes me happy 😊

Lance was pouting.

The Prince had caught him by such surprise that he had _squeaked_ —like one of those Altean mice or something!

And now, as Lance trudged ahead in the caves of Nonstreiter, he could just _feel_ the haughty, fanged grin that prince was wearing. He was growing a bit tired, though. They'd both forged ahead at full speed, but the cavern seemed to stretch on for eternity.

"Are you sure it's even in here?" He had to ask. He also allowed himself to step aside and lean against the wall of the cave.

Lotor stopped as well, pulling his helmet off and releasing a white wave of hair. So graceful in every movement—Lance felt embarrassed just being human. But he allowed himself to stare, and if asked, would cover it up under the guise of awaiting an answer to his question.

Lotor's cheeks were flushed a shade of sangria, the wide expanse of his armored chest visibly rising and falling with every breath. Despite it all, Lotor seemed immaculate and unfazed as per usual. When he dipped his head toward Lance, the paladin was forced to hide the flush that rose up.

"It has to be. Either way, you said it yourself, my sweet—it can't be that easy."

Of course.

Lance huffed, behind his helmet. "What's your oxygen intake, anyway?"

Lotor didn't seem to expect the query, pausing and raising a sharp brow. "I beg your pardon?"

Lance had to grin at that. "Your oxygen intake, Prince. Just out of curiosity."

Lotor's brows peaked before resting in their typical furrowed state, the tall prince looking lazily to the side. "What's yours, for comparison?"

Lance peaked over to the graphs at the right side of his visor, despite knowing this particular question by heart. It was drilled into him the second he stepped into the academy. "Around two-hundred fifty milliliters at rest—more when active."

Lotor frowned. "Milliliters? I don't think—oh no, I _do_ remember seeing that unit of measurement in one of your human biology tomes. My intake is quite a bit lower than yours. I thrive on not only oxygen, but carbon as well."

It was Lance's turn to be confused. He'd continue that particular conversation later, favoring an explanation to the first part of the Prince's response. "In one of my what?"

Lotor stepped closer to carry on the conversation. "Those encyclopedic tomes, full of your language in print—all the knowledge you can carry. You humans have so many of them. I've attained a few over the years—I'm a bit of a collector, I suppose."

"I'm going to assume your referring to a _book_. Also, there's more than one language on planet Earth."

Lotor frowns. "You can't be serious. Why have more than a single form of language? Again, humanity's logic fails me."

Lance couldn't help but laugh at that. "We don't all know the different languages. We speak different languages based on what area of Earth we live on. I'm from Cuba, and I went to North America for piloting school. I know two languages, because those two places speak two different languages, and I had to spend time in both. The rest of the other languages are completely unknown to me. Actually, I know 'Ciao,' that's Italian . . . From Italy."

Lotor was silent, a slight pout hanging from one corner of his lips.

"Okay. So there are hundreds of different designated areas on Earth, okay?"

"I follow."

"And in all those areas are a group of people."

"Indeed."

"Right, and so each area, since they think of themselves as different from other groups, will have their own language. They also have their own customs, art, and foods." He forced the thought of garlic knots from his mind before he started feeling like he's starved. Actually, it's been a while since he ate . . . "Sometimes, these groups of people are so different from each other that they even go to war—"

"That's preposterous! Humans are a single species, why would they divide themselves up in that way? _Where is the logic_?"

Lotor was so frustrated—eyes wide, teeth slightly bared, hands thrown up in confusion—that Lance couldn't stop the heavy laughter that bubbled up.

This made Lotor's condition worse. "Do you mock me? Paladin, where did this form of divided culture originate, please indulge me?"

Through his fit of laughter, he could hardly respond. "We— _ha ha ha_ —we don't even—nobody even _knows_ , man."

"Oh! Paladin, your pallor seems to be fading. Does laughter aid in this particular illness?"

He felt the laughter fade, even though his smile remained. "Pardon? I—I'm not sick—"

"I beg to differ, my sweet. Not to worry—I believe you are cured. You had odd splotching in your skin tone, but the flush of your happiness seems to have soothed it."

Lance didn't even know what to say. I mean . . . laughing does kind of cure sadness in that way, doesn't it?

It was odd how much Lotor could pick up and understand from his assumed limited knowledge and experience with humans.

"Yeah, I . . . guess it did help."

He felt his tone fall into a more timid response, and unfortunately, Lotor noticed. "Ah, maybe not yet. I must say, your charming personality seemed a bit dulled today. Is there another condition that ails you?"

Lance couldn't help the way he closed himself off, the panic of choosing a believable, convincing response weighing heavily on him. "I don't think so . . . I feel fine. All good." He added a confident nod just to send the point across, but Lotor didn't seem to buy it.

"You're quiet, Paladin McClain."

And quiet he stayed for that moment. Lotor met his eyes and held his gaze, the piercing black and gold of them somehow halting every proper thought he tried to make.

Lotor then smiled softly, and stood. He lifted Lance's hand with a gentle touch, inviting him to join. "Let's move along then, shall we?"

And then, as if invited, the ground under them crumbled.

. . .

They reached for each other almost immediately.

" _Paladin, hang on to me_ —"

" _What's happening_ —"

" _Hold tightly_ —"

They hadn't reached the bottom yet, and in the darkness, all he could feel was the wind rushing by him and the warmth of Lotor's form.

Lotor curled his larger body around him, and Lance was too afraid to do much of anything aside from cling as he was instructed.

Lotor forcibly moved his arms from the man's waist to his shoulders, no longer having time for gentility.

" _Activate your thrusters_ —"

Just as the light of their main thrusters illuminated them, they crashed to the ground with a force that sent them tumbling hard.

They rolled across the ground, tumbling over each other, trying to stop themselves so they could at least get their bearings, and hopefully avoid another unexpected free fall. Lance was jostled roughly—helmet slamming against the ground a number of times, curling over at an angle that sent his body screaming in pain—until finally they were able to halt themselves.

With the last thud of his helmet on the rocky ground, his helmet tumbled off, despite the intense magnets that were supposed to keep it intact. With his already panicky, labored breathing—the lack of oxygen had him gasping for breath so hard his lungs ached with startling ferocity.

Lotor, struck by the same panic, only gave himself a second to notice the issue, and promptly used his armors thrusters to hastily drag them both across the ground to where the helmet fell. Lance could only convulse with oxygen deprivation, until Lotor unceremoniously replaced the paladin's helmet.

Lance coughed and hacked as he forced his breaths, eyes watering to the point where his vision completely failed him. Every inch of him shook.

As he calmed, and opened his still watering eyes, he saw the prince panicking above him. Lance gripped the Galra man's upper arm with what little strength he had in the moment, just to steady himself.

Lotor calmed himself as well as he leant over the paladin, closing his eyes to get his bearings before taking in Lance's condition. The man's face fell, and the action made Lance feel guilty for some indiscernible reason.

"Lance, you—" he still fought to catch his breath, "I now genuinely fear for your wellbeing. Your health has deteriorated both since we last spoke, and throughout this mission. Are you able to go on?"

Lance nodded. Surely, it could be way worse. All he had to do was catch his breath—maybe that would get rid of the pounding headache.

"Are you sure, Paladin? It is my understanding that the gravest and most difficult of illnesses are those which cause tears to fall. Your star blue eyes seem to face the same irritation that they did since your arrival. Is this happening frequently?"

 _Quiznack_ —all Lance had done thus far was prove himself incapable. Ignoring Lotor's interesting choice of descriptor, he insisted. "I said, I'm _fine_."

Lotor drew back some at Lance's harsh tone. "I digress for now, Lance, but I request that you rest generously upon your return."

"Yeah, I will, I will." He'd probably train instead, seeing how he sorely needed it, but Lotor didn't need to know that.

Lance was already reeling from the fall—but now with Lotor so close, saying his name the way he does, leaning over him with his hair falling across both of their adjacent shoulders—Lance's thoughts went rogue and he couldn't really stop them.

"Some luck might've done me some good then, I suppose," he said, thinking back to Lotor's advances from earlier.

At first, the Galra Prince seemed confused, but as his features softened, Lance could only assume he understood. "Maybe," he agreed.

But the prince left the topic alone, and finally took a look around. As Lance tried to decide on whether or not he preferred that reaction, he noticed that Lotor's eyes shone with wonder. "Amazing. Stunning, really—Paladin, look around you."

With a helpful hand under his elbow, Lance rose until he knelt on one knee beside Lotor.

Around him were old scribblings—multiple desks, rotting papers—empty test vials, and books galore. The tall cavern was illuminated by the reflection of light across a strategically placed set of reflectors.

A scholar's dream.

"Truly magnificent," Lotor continued. "I . . . oh stars, It's _wondrous_ . . ."

Lance couldn't help but find amusement in Lotor's admiration for a bunch of old stuff.

The prince quickly stood, brushing himself off, and absentmindedly reaching down to lend a hand. Lance thought it odd, but he took it anyway, and was helped to stand as well.

Lotor continued over to the desk before them. Paper writings and graphs were stuck to the rock walls in multiple fashions, the wall of notes reaching at least triple the prince's height. Lance drew up beside Lotor as the man sifted through the mess of the desk.

"So is this it?" Lance questioned. "Is this what we were looking for?"

"No," Lotor said, though quite gleefully. " _This is._ "

He gently lifted the old text from its place so that the paladin could read the page. Lotor tapped the bottom corner with a gloved finger, so Lance followed it. Beside a lengthy paragraph of unreadable text, was a drawing of some kind of stone with lines on it.

"The compass stone," Lance realized, and looked around.

"Indeed paladin. The text indicates that it's hidden in this cavern somewhere, in hopes that none would seek it out."

"Hidden here?"

Lotor nodded.

So they began their search—through the desks, crumpled pages, empty vials—and found nothing to show for their efforts.

"Utterly infuriating," the prince commented, jaw taut and looking away from Lance.

The prince's mannerisms sparked something inside Lance, but he tried to push it aside. Not the time, or place, or _person_.

Lance looked over to the other side of the cavern, the empty, dark side where the reflectors lay. With a frown, he started toward them.

Where better to hide something than behind a blinding light? No one would ever look there.

So he shielded his eyes and used his suits thrusters to propel him toward the reflectors across the way. There seemed to be a chasm between the area where they fell and the ledge that held the reflectors.

"Lance?"

He didn't bother answering, instead setting himself down beside the reflectors and moving them so that he could look behind them.

But after looking around every one, nothing.

Lance felt the dejection. "Who knows where it could be . . . anything in the notes?"

Lotor shook his head from where he was already sifting through the pages of yet another text. "Nothing," he muttered.

So Lance sat still, looking into a fallen reflector, no longer propped up. Now, it was nothing more than a mirror.

And he could finally see why Lotor kept insisting that he was ill. He'd not only taken a beating from the fall, but his paleness, and the gaunt quality that took over his face left him with the realization that maybe he _was_ sick.

He started to replace the reflectors, so at least Lotor could get a better view of what he was doing—or maybe Galra can see well in the dark, since he hadn't complained so far. But he couldn't get the angle right, and as he propped it against the rock walls of the cavern, the light caught something below him.

He froze immediately, staring down at the faint shimmer from below them. " _Lotor_ . . ." he called.

The prince must have heard something in his tone, because the Galra man just about threw the book down and rushed to his side of the chasm. "What is it?"

For fear of losing sight of the object, Lance merely nodded down below.

Lotor followed his gaze, and covered his mouth with his hand. "My stars . . ."

Lotor stepped back, still facing the chasm.

"Lotor," Lance asked cautiously. "What are you doing?"

He grinned his exceedingly charming grin, fang glinting as it catches the small shimmer of light available. "I, my sweet paladin, am going for a swim."

"A _swim_ —"

Before he could do anything more, Lotor dived down the chasm, and Lance was forced to do nothing else but watch. There was fear, there—fear that some alien beast might be lurking in the apparent water down there. Fear that it was too deep and Lotor wouldn't make it. Fear that they'd separated a bit now and if there was something that went wrong, Lance wouldn't reach him in time. It'd ruin _everything_.

Lance couldn't even see what was happening, so he heightened his suits audio input sensitivity and listened attentively.

Now, he could hear the faintest splashing of water, but nothing else.

So he continued to wait. And listen. Listening and waiting.

And then, flame sparked to life under the water. Lance almost drew back, and nearly regretted not doing so as Lotor emerged from the water and flew straight upward.

Lance was forced to let the reflector he was holding finally fall as Lotor took his wrist in hand to guide the both of them to the other side of the chasm where they fell.

As they both set foot in that exact spot, Lance was forced to notice the soaking wet prince. His skin shone like stained glass, and his hair was now messy, divided into dripping silver strands. Water droplets even clung to his long, thick lashes.

 _Quiznack_. Oh, this was _so bad_. A bad time, he reminded himself. He repeated it like a mantra. _No flirting allowed. Bad time, bad place, bad person_ —

But Lotor really didn't _seem_ all that bad. Lance felt perfectly comfortable around the man, even despite the probing questions on his health.

". . . Lance, are you hearing me?"

"What?"

"I was speaking to you. It appears you hadn't heard?"

"Um . . ."

Lotor blinked at Lance's odd, flustered silence. "Right, well Paladin, your inquiry of the reflectors was a prime example of good intuition," he rushed, seemingly excited.

Lance couldn't help but find Lotor's interest attractive. That, and that fact that he was soaking wet.

"We've found our piece, Lance. We've found the compass stone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, voila! Another chapter! I'm very excited about this mainly because I was feeling stuck for a while there, not knowing how to approach this next chapter, and I just suddenly got inspired and banged it out these past few hours. I hope you like it. A little more chemistry in this one!
> 
> Their relationship is gonna be so good I just love their dialogueeeee!
> 
> So be sure to follow me, leave a comment, and join the Discord chat where you can find free sneak peaks and early update notices, as well as discussion with other readers and myself!


	9. The Company You Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I relate to Lance a little too much 😅

"So . . . this is it?"

The stone was so . . . _underwhelming_.

"I doubt that it wouldn't be," Lotor responded, twisting his hair and squeezing the water out of it as they walked.

Lance absentmindedly watched the water droplets trace their path down the cavern. "It's so plain. Shouldn't it—I don't know, shouldn't it be all _glowy_ , or something? Usually legendary items are at least a little cool."

Lotor scoffs. "This key was meant to be hidden and discreet—I imagine making it as _uncool_ as possible allows for it to remain secret . . . did I use that word correctly?"

Lance smiled—Lotor's lack of knowledge on the little things that made up Earth culture was honestly the most entertainment he'd had in the years he'd been in this endless expanse. "You did," he allowed. "Let me see it, I can take it back to the Castle of Lions and have Pidge run some scans. Locater stuff, and that."

Lotor frowned, tightening his grip on the stone as Lance reached for it. As soon as he did, Lance felt the doubt creeping in.

"Why can't I have it? Lotor I can't just hand this off to you."

The prince raised a brow, fangs protruding ever so slightly from his frown. "Paladin, you understand why _I_ cannot hand it off to _you_. Your paladins have proven their distrust for me, due to my race. I've said it before—it would get it in the way of their better judgment. I specifically entrusted this mission to you and you alone, after the Paladins decided against working with me."

Lance stopped, and Lotor only made it a few steps without realizing. "So you just circled around their distrust for you to get what you want anyway? Is that what this is? Your father committed genocide against Allura's race. Her distrust isn't unfounded. As for the compass stone, I'm not letting you take it alone. I'm not just going to go back to the Castle and forget this ever happened."

"Lance," he said, stepping closer and crossing his arms. "My intentions are not, and never were, to cheat you or the paladins. I thought it would be mutually beneficial to us all, as a united front against my father. Allura is right to feel and act the way she does, I never believed otherwise. What my father did to her was unspeakable and disgraceful." He sighed in frustration, running a hand through his still soaked hair. "And just so you are aware, Paladin, you are in _no way_ disposable to me—I need more from you."

Lance felt the snarl creep onto his face before he could think for a second of diplomacy. "And when you're done with me, what then?"

"Who ever said I would be done with you, Lance? I still intend to ally with you and Voltron to defeat my father. I still very much intend to keep you _in the loop_ , as you'd call it, about my plans with the stone. I understand where your distrust comes from, but I _beg_ you to put it aside, in the name of the greater good of the universe."

Lance's face was heated with the anger that had consumed him, the panic, but it faded as Lotor talked him down. _It's what he's good a_ t, Lance convinced himself. _The prince could talk his way out of anything_. And quiznack, it was working.

Lance shook his head, ridding himself of useless thoughts. "Fine, but I'm not allowing you to leave with the stone and go on your merry way, I'm coming along. I still have a few more hours until any of the paladins will notice I'm gone."

Lotor scowled, but with no ill intention. More confusion. "My _merry way_ , what in the stars does that mean—"

But Prince Lotor was tackled to the ground.

Lance's eyes widened, his bayard in his hand before he could think about it. The attacker threw the prince to the ground, and as Lance prepared to aid his ally, the attacker was promptly thrown across the cavern with his own momentum.

The blue paladin had hope for only a second, until the attacker swiftly landed on their feet, and stood, revealing the Blade of Marmora armor they wore.

 _Oh no_.

A dozen or so Blades revealed themselves, and he recognized one as Kolivan. Even with the identical armor they all wore, Kolivan was recognizable enough if you knew what to look for.

" _Kolivan_ ," he shouted. "Kolivan, stop this. It's me, Lance, Blue Paladin of Voltron. The Prince is with me," he explained, but to no use.

Two Blades attacked him from behind, surprising him despite his helmets eight-hundred degree motion and heat sensors. One curled an arm around his neck, the other disarming him. He let his bayard absorb itself back into his suit—there's no way he'd let anyone else touch it.

It took _four_ Blades to twist Lotor's arms behind his back and walk him closer.

A much shorter agent came up behind Kolivan, and Lance knew it had to be him.

"Keith, buddy—" Lance groaned as the Blade behind him tightened his extreme hold on his neck, cutting off most of his air. " _Keith_ ," he tried again.

To his relief, Keith stepped forward, ahead of his leader, and removed the top half of his mask, leaving the oxygen translator on. "Lance, what the quiznack are you doing here?"

Keith nodded to the Blade behind Lance, and suddenly, he could breathe again. He gasped as Keith drew closer, and spared a glance to the prince.

Lotor was already looking at him, but remained still, without a fight.

Lance glared at Keith. "Man, what is this? Tell them to let me go."

Keith's brows furrowed in the rare way they do when he's worried. "I can't do that—"

" _Why the hell not_ ," Lance shouted. "Are you serious?" He turned to the head of the Blade. "Kolivan, what's the meaning of this?"

Kolivan came closer, his mask still on, and his voice distorted. "Do you know the company you keep, Blue Paladin?"

Lance scowled. " _Of course I do_. Look, if this is about Lotor, I'm telling you we can trust him—he wants to take his father down just as much as we do."

Kolivan looked away, toward the complacent prince. "I doubt it," he says simply.

As Kolivan lazily drew closer to Lotor, Lance felt his panic rise.

"Where is the key," the Blade leader said simply.

"It is on my person," Lotor revealed easily. "And before you remove it, know my intentions are as Paladin McClain said. I intend to bring my father and his tyranny to ruin. I will gladly work with your society to achieve that."

As Kolivan let the silence steal a moment, his blades pulling tighter, immobilizing the prince further.

"Let him go," Lance tried, as if it would work.

Kolivan, _and Keith_ , ignored him.

Kolivan seemed to be smiling under his mask, judging by his amused tone. "Interesting timing for your alliance request, Lord Prince. I'm afraid that just isn't believable coming from you."

Lance witnessed the exhaustion that took over Lotor's expression in that moment—his eyes falling shut, his brows turning down as his jaw ticks, and he looks upward at his captor with new confidence.

"I'd have asked earlier, but you _are_ an extremely secret society," he says dryly. "Nevertheless, I have been honest about the stone. You can find it inside a compartment behind my breastplate. I must, however, insist that you leave it with me. I have a plan that with significantly increase our chances of winning against my father, a plan I will gladly share with you should you give me the opportunity."

Lance turned to his friend, or maybe just someone he knew. "Keith," he whispered, and the red paladin didn't move a muscle. However, his dark eyes settled on Lance with attention.

Lance cleared his throat. "Listen to me. Lotor has had every opportunity to kill me in the last few hours, and before then. He's actually saved me a couple times. I trust him, okay?"

Keith really _glared_ at him. "Lance, he's _Zarkon's son_ —"

"Stop saying that like I don't know it, _I know full well who he is_."

Keith shook his head. "Lance, this is the fate of the universe we're talking about, we can't just go out on a limb because he's nice to you."

Lance felt nothing short of betrayal. _Keith really thinks he's stupid_. _"_ I know exactly what we're talking about, stop trying to lecture me and get to the point. You _know_ me, bro. Why haven't you at _least_ released _me_?"

The red paladin changes the topic. "How long have you been going out on these little missions with him, huh?"

Lance scowled again. "Why does it matter, why— _where are you taking Lotor_ —"

Talking to Keith, he'd almost missed Kolivan and his Blades leading Lotor away. Lotor, who looked back at him, as if trying to tell him something with his eyes.

Lance shook his head, watching them lead the man away until Keith's body blocked his view.

Keith nodded at the Blades that held Lance, and finally, he was released. He had half a mind to turn and hold them hostage with his bayard in sword-form, but he had some lingering trust for Keith that he could lean on.

"Allura was right," his half-friend said. "You need to figure out which side you're on."

. . .

Lance went with them willingly, and with a heavy, sinking feeling in his gut.

"You're welcome, by the way."

Lance glared. "For what, exactly? I don't recall being thankful for literally anything you've done thus far."

Keith shook his head, glaring, but at the walls. "I'm the one who convinced Kolivan to release you."

"If he didn't, it'd have looked like betrayal to Voltron."

"You're one to talk," he accused.

Lance's jaw fell. "Are you quiznacking serious? What's your problem? Just because you haven't trusted anyone _ever_ doesn't mean you get to be condescending to me for actually taking action and making decisions that could help us defeat Zarkon."

Keith didn't respond to that, and Lance _almost_ felt bad.

They stopped at the presumably one-way glass wall. Behind it, sat Lotor, in an alien equivalent of a straitjacket.

He felt nothing short of furious as he glared daggers into the red paladin. "You put him in a quiznacking _straitjacket_? _You people are insane_ —what's he even done to deserve this?"

Keith frowned. "Zarkon's son is hatching plans that involve something as magical as that key—"

"His name is Lotor, you should use it."

Keith shook his head in disapproval. "You don't get it do you?"

"You tend to assume that, but by all means, tell me what I apparently don't get—I'll start, actually. I don't get why your only reason for taking him prisoner and putting him in a straitjacket is his father. Other than his paternal relation and his prince-hood, which aren't inherently evil of him, you have nothing."

"Well we won't have nothing for long."

Lance sighed, feeling the anger simmer down into disappointment. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do."

"As always."

Keith glared at him, and Lance let him.

Kolivan questioned Lotor on many things—the compass stone, his reasons for seeking it out, his means of retrieving it—and through it all, Lotor remains honest. Evasive at times, admittedly, but still honest.

"I told you," Lance says, as Kolivan's stupid lackeys take Lotor away. "All you're doing is wasting time."

But Keith is suddenly fed up with him— " _Why are you so obsessed with this guy, Lance?_ "

"I'm not obsessed, why do you care?"

"He's dangerous—"

" _Prove it_."

His mouth opens, and closes, before he sighs. "I know you, okay? You're a flirt, you're always going through with things to impress people you like—remember when that alien girl handcuffed you and we had to come rescue you?"

Lance's face flushed in embarrassment. "I'm not in love with Lotor or whatever, that's not what this is about."

"Fine, just . . . I'm always being sent out on missions; I can't always be around—I don't want something to happen to you."

Right then, it was so relieving to hear that Keith cared about him . . . but the fate of the universe was more important.

So he stepped past his friend, and followed after the captive prince.

Keith didn't stop him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came out of nowhere but heyyyy it's here! Let me know what you think with a comment, and feel free to join the Discord and yell at me for imprisoning bae 😈😝


	10. Black and White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I have to say, Lance is a little too relatable - I like writing him when I'm feeling emo to be honest. 😅

Lance sighed from the opposite end of the cage, one leg curled toward him so he could rest his chin on his knee.

_What was he supposed to do now?_

Keith would tell Voltron of his little side missions with Lotor, and then he’d surely get kicked off the team. And if he didn’t, his expulsion would be inevitable the second they discovered that the lions weren’t responding to him. Quiznack, he hadn’t been kicked off the team yet, but he already had to stop pretending like he was still a part of it. No one trusts him, nor do the lions, and now he’s working with a Galra man they collectively agreed not to trust.

“Paladin, please don’t concern yourself with my entrapment. The importance right now lies with the compass stone - we must retrieve it. I fear the Blade, as clever as they are, would waste its power when it could be so much more useful if used correctly. They will not listen to me. You need to continue.”

Lance had convinced Kolivan to remove the straitjacket, but they took the prince’s beautiful armor as well.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

Prince Lotor shook his head, his long, silver-white hair falling past his face to rest on his shoulders. Lance couldn’t help but admire it. _Maybe he should change his hair too?_ He’d had the same style since middle school, after all.

Lotor smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I drew you into my mess. I hadn’t meant for this. I’m truly just trying to do the right thing.”

Lance met his eyes, and even in the dim light of his cell, he noticed they shone a bright gold. “I believe you.”

He laughed to himself. “I’m glad you do, my sweet.”

And Keith, hearing the pet name as he sauntered up to the two, scowled as he spoke. “If you’re done flirting with the son of a genocidal maniac, I need to speak with you Lance.”

Instantly, Lance’s mood took a plummet. He followed behind Keith as Lotor called out in response.

“But you recognize that I myself am not the maniac, Blade?”

A valid point, but Keith ignored him.

“You know,” Lance said. “If we worked together, we might actually get somewhere before Zarkon destroys everything.”

“Please,” Keith scoffed, but seemed hesitant.

Lance went on the offensive. “He’s no more guilty of genocide than you are, Keith.”

The red paladin’s eyes went dark, his features twisting with anger. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that just because you and Lotor are Galra, doesn’t mean you’re guilty of the crimes committed by a tyrannical, dangerous leader.”

“I’m only half, and I’ve lived on Earth my whole life. Lotor is the son of that tyrannical leader, and if you think that just because he’s hot and he’s into you that it doesn’t mean he isn’t manipulating you to get what he wants, you’re just as blind as everyone thinks you are.”

And with that last blow, his eyes stung with oncoming tears. He tried to excuse it - because Keith always said cruel, hurtful things when he was feeling attacked - maybe he was hurting too.

So he tried to ignore it, and instead reach out to his good friend, his rival, and his teammate. “Keith. You are Galra. That will not change. But you aren’t to blame for the Galra’s messes, and certainly not Zarkon’s. You know . . . Lotor tells me his people are in trouble too. That it’s kill for Zarkon, or be killed yourself. I don’t think this stuff is as black and white as it seems.”

Keith stayed silent, looking away.

Lance reached a slightly shaken hand out to lay it on the other paladin’s shoulder. “How’s it been with Allura?”

And then Keith was angry again, ripping his shoulder from Lance’s grip, ranting at the metal walls beside them. “She won’t even talk to me! Ever since she found out, she only sees me as Galra. She forgets that I’m human - she acts like I had a part in Zarkon’s evil regime! And she even knows better - she trusts Kolivan more than me, I just don’t understand what her problem is.”

Lance gave a sad smile. “She kind of sounds like you.”

He spun around. “ _What?_ ”

Lance backed away, toward Lotor’s cell. “She treats you exactly the way you treat Lotor.”

. . .

Lance had to go back to the Castle of Lions eventually, or everyone would know about what he’d done.

It seemed as though Keith wasn’t going to talk anytime soon. He still hadn’t returned.

So Lance trained.

He spent all morning with his bayard in sniper rifle form, no-scoping it in favor of proving he wasn’t, in fact, _blind_.

He was only somewhat satisfied with the results. He got nearly every shot clear and on point, but nearly every shot wasn’t _every shot_.

And when he got sick of that, he practiced in sword form well into the afternoon. That is, until Hunk and Pidge stopped in.

And man, it was _weird_.

He cut the simulation, leaning on his sword as he caught his breath. Hunk and Pidge came up to him dressed in all sorts of weird stuff.

Hunk grinned widely at him, and Lance found that he missed the guy’s pleasant attitude. “What’s up, Lance? I made some scary looking cookies, I thought I’d bring you some sustenance in case you haven’t eaten yet. I . . . didn’t see you this morning at breakfast, and we missed you at lunch.”

Lance frowned. “Why so scary?”

Pidge frowned, her jaw pausing as cookie crumbs fell from her lip. “What do you mean? It’s Halloween.”

“It Hall-” he cut himself off. “Really? It’s really Halloween?”

The paladins quietly nodded, and Lance, for some reason, felt disoriented. “I . . . don’t have a costume.”

“Are you okay, man? You look kind of sick.”

Pidge squinted. “Rover, assess Lance’s physical wellness please.”

Rover let out a little beep, hovering around Lance with its little scanning tool.

“No, really, that’s not necessary -” he tried, but Rover beeped again.

“ _Diagnostic complete. Blue Paladin Lance McClain is functioning at seventy-four percent of normal levels. Caution advised_.”

“That can’t be right -”

Pidge stepped toward him, showing a criminal amount of empathy for her _normal levels_. “Lance, what’s going on with you? I feel like we never see you anymore. I know it’s been hard lately, and Allura’s all stressed, but I hate to see you like this.”

Hunk just wordlessly held the spooky cookies toward him, so Lance hesitantly took one.

She continued. “And I’ve been playing _Killbot Phantasm_ by myself . . . it’s not as fun.”

He sighed. “Pidge, I get it, and I’m sorry, but I don’t have time anymore to play _Killbot Phantasm_ , and I don’t have time to sit down and eat. There’s just a lot that I need to do.” Like fight better, think quicker, move faster, break Lotor out of the Blade’s cells, show the paladins that he’s just as good as they are. “Guys, do you think I’m blind?”

Hunk looked clueless, and Pidge looked downright bamboozled. “Uh,” she mumbled. “Not really, but - Rover, do a retinal assessment as well -”

“No, no -” he cut her off before Rover did something to him. “Just - never mind. I need to train, thanks for the cookie Hunk. Tasted great, real spooky,” he said honestly, turning back to the simulation. “Sweet _Demonsphere_ costume, Pidge. _Resume simulation_.”

. . .

He met them for dinner, if only because the hunger got unbearable and he didn’t want anyone worrying and babying him.

It was quiet, Allura talking mostly with Shiro and Pidge as Lance sat on his own, both seats next to him empty as they waited for Hunk to present the meal.

Shiro took a minute to break away from their conversation and speak to him. “Hey Lance, headed back to the training deck after this?”

He paused. Did that mean Shiro thought he needed more training, or was it for some other reason? He’d been unsure, but now that everyone was paying attention, he shouldn’t say no - it would look as if he wasn’t training at all. “Yeah, probably.”

His hero gave a short smile. “Alright. If you don’t mind, can I join? We can do sword forms together, I can’t get past level thirty-three on duo mode, so.”

Lance nodded. “Uh - yeah, sure.”

Allura and Pidge resumed their conversation, so Shiro leaned over. “I was also wondering if you’d mind helping me dye my hair afterward? It doesn’t come out as well when I do it myself.”

Lance grinned. “Yeah, I can help.”

To be honest, the last two times Lance helped Shiro dye his hair, it was really fun. Shiro is just really fun to hang out with - with Keith or Pidge, especially Allura, sometimes Lance felt pressured.

But he smelt something _fantastic_ , and as he looked up, Hunk walked in.

“Can I have everybody’s attention, please? Thank you. _Ahem_ \- I’ve decided on Earth cuisine tonight. For the appetizer, I’ve prepared garlic knots and hand-breaded mozzarella sticks, with your choice of marinara or raspberry dipping sauce.” It was in that moment, Lance realized just how _awesome_ Hunk was. “For the main course, Cuban-style picadillo with sweet, fried platanos on the side.”

“Oh my god Hunk, you’re a queen. You’re a quiznacking queen.” He rushed, leaning over the center of the table to grab some garlic knots.

That made everyone laugh, and for a minute, time slowed down. Even if they sometimes made him feel bad, these were still the people he loved, and it still felt all too good to make them laugh. Pidge snorted, Shiro’s nose crinkled, and Allura was doubled over. He laughed along with them, but only for a minute before he just had to shove this garlic knots in his mouth.

And they were _heavenly_.

Hunk took his seat between Lance and Shiro, inviting everyone to eat before leaning over to speak to Lance.

“Tell me if you like it, I got the recipes from your family last time we were on Earth and I want to make sure I got them right.”

Lance happily nodded. On one hand, he wanted to savor the garlic knots, but on the other, he wanted to _devour_ the picadillo and plantains. It was all so good, he could’ve _cried_.

When they had all finished the meal, Lance was stuffed to the point of near sickness. He had no regrets though - not with that food. And the pumpkin flan they’d had for dessert? _Spectacular_.

“Hunk, I’m blown away. Really outdid yourself man, so good.”

Hunk laid a hand on his shoulder, and it only furthered the kind warmth that Lance felt growing in him. “I’m glad you liked it man, I’m aiming to get you back to a hundred percent again!”

Lance felt a bit of embarrassment creeping in. “Don’t worry about that, I just haven’t been hungry.”

Suddenly he heard a beep behind him. “ _Blue Paladin Lance McClain functioning at eighty-two percent of normal levels. Caution advised._ ”

“Come on, Rover - with that caution quiznack. I’m having a good time!”

Pidge and Hunk shrugged, but Shiro walked over to join them.

“Hey, Shiro. I might need a few minutes to digest,” Lance joked.

Shiro grinned widely. “Me too. Really Hunk, the flan was out of this world.” He then turned to Lance. “Why don’t we start with some light yoga then?”

How exciting - Shiro really wanted to do yoga with him? He’d only done it two other times, and it went well, but the guy always felt a little awkward being less flexible than Lance. “Yeah, that sounds great actually.”

So they disappeared after the meal, and spent several minutes just doing upright stretches, talking about basic things.

“Adam says Command has agreed to send him up to the International Space Station to work with the Extraterrestrial Communications and Politics Division. Now, I understand why he didn’t want me going on that mission so long ago.”

Lance frowned, “Command agreed? As in, he petitioned for himself to go? Wow,” he said offhandedly, pushing himself up on both hands with his legs stretched out above the ground in front of him.

Shiro sighed. “How do you do that?”

“You have to rest your knees on your elbows a certain way.”

After Shiro trying and only half-succeeding, they finally decided that they were ready to actually fight. It took them two tries to pass level thirty-three, and by then, they had settled into a nice flow as a team, continuing on to level thirty-eight before calling it quits. Lance had gotten a couple friendly pointers on sword-form, and he couldn’t wait to implement them.

“Alright, I’m beat. I think I’m done for tonight.”

Lance nodded, “Night Shiro.”

The man blinked. “Um . . . should we dye my hair tomorrow then?”

“Oh, right.” He had planned on continuing on solo mode, but after training all day, he supposed that could wait. “No, I’m coming. We’ll do it now.”

“Cool, thanks.”

. . .

They’d laughed as Shiro’s hair was slowly morphed from white to black.

“Honestly, I feel way more like myself this way. It’s bad enough having a Galra-tech arm. At least with this hair I can feel younger too,” he joked. Shiro was always making elderly jokes at his own expense.

“You don’t look old with the white hair, you look super cool. Like a pop star or something. You’re already super famous on Earth now that everyone knows about Voltron.”

“It’s crazy to think that everyone there knows me . . . Do you ever feel like your time on Earth was a dream? I miss the simplicity of it.”

Lance sighed, and nodded. “I know exactly what you mean, man. But you were still me hero back then too.”

Shiro looked up at him as Lance helped rinse his hair in the tub. “Your hero?”

Lance nodded again, a little embarrassed, but feeling open. “Yeah. I idolized you for a long time - I still do. You’re everything I want to be, Shiro.”

But the black paladin was quiet after that, and Lance feared he said too much.

“I mean - you know, I also like Beyoncé and Mariah Carey, they’re cool too.”

He gave a short laugh. “I’m grateful you feel that way, Lance. I’ll try to live up to that.”

So later on that “night,” after they’d finished with his hair, Lance left his idol’s room feeling pretty okay.

And when he returned to his own room, he remembered exactly why he shouldn’t have felt that way.

Keith stood leaning against the nightstand in that emo way he does, and Lance was taken aback.

“What are you doing here? Does everyone else know you’re back?”

But Keith shook his head, pushing off the nightstand to walk closer. “I’m not back. I came to give you this.”

He held out the glowing compass stone.

Lance’s brows furrowed, and before he could ask anything, Keith spoke again. “Yeah, it’s the real thing. Look, it won’t be long before the Blade finds out it’s gone. Actually, they probably already know about it. Do what you need to do, but do it quickly. They’ll come to you first, and I can’t hold them off without looking like a traitor.”

With that, he pushed past Lance and headed for the door.

“Wait,” he whispered, catching Keith’s arm. “What about Lotor?”

Keith shook his head. “I thought about what you said, okay? But there’s still no way for me to get him out, Blade HQ is crawling with surveillance. It was hard enough getting the stone.”

He jerked his arm away from Lance’s grip, and left without a word.

So Lance gripped the stone tightly, heart pounding.

He wouldn’t be going to sleep tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, even if it's been a while since I updated, I'm having a lot of fun with this fanfic. Normally stories take a lot of planning, but with ABLY I can just put stuff out there pretty much whenever. It's kinda nice ☺


	11. White Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance is my therapy <3

He’d checked every lion bay before he left - still, none of the lions responded to him.

So he took a one-manner from the Castle hangar, and found Lotor’s cruiser exactly where they’d left it on Nonstreiter.

He made his way to the door, only to realize one pretty important detail.

 _Password protection_.

“Quiznack,” he muttered, eying the simple keypad by the door. It was marked with Galran lettering, but luckily his helmet translated that for him. There were only a fraction of letters equivalent to the Earth-American alphabet there, and they were terribly obscure.

 _Not enough letters for_ quiznack . . .

 _Not enough for_ I hate my dad, _either_.

But Lance gasped at the third thought, and typed _Kova_ into the keypad. That was his alien cat’s name, right?

But his hope turned to a scowl, directed at the keypad beeping at the incorrect password.

Stars, what else was there?

He looked around the desolate planet, for a source of inspiration maybe, and found none.

He went ahead and typed in _blue lion,_ and realized the last four letters were highlighted. Did that mean they were correct? There seemed to be another empty space on the left - did that mean Galra type is right-aligned?

So the last four letters were correct - that made it kind of easy then! There were only so many lions.

But he’d tried red, green, and so on. None of them had worked. He sighed, and eyed the universal clock in the corner of his visor. It’d already been an entire _varga_.

Five letter colors . . .

 _Brown_? Wrong.

He put in _white_ next, and as he was wondering why Lotor didn’t have any explosives set to go off on a number of incorrect attempts, the keypad beeped, and the airlock door released.

He paused. _White lion_?

He’d have to save the question for Lotor later - Lance quickly shut the airlock behind him, taking a seat in the captain’s chair. He had to admit - Lotor knew how to ride in _style_.

Navigating the communications system was slow going - he had to translate all of it with his visor, and it was just generally confusing on top of that - but he got a hold of it eventually. He just hoped _base_ was what he was looking for.

His screen was blank for a long time, and he had just started to doubt himself when it lit up to display an image of ponytail girl bribing an uninterested Kova with some kind of Galran cat treat.

Zethrid came into the picture not long after, taking a seat in front of the camera and blocking ponytail girl from sight. Her stone-cold expression was quickly run over by one of shock as she realized who she was talking to.

“What happened to the lord prince? What have you done to him?”

Lance flushed, going on the defensive. “I haven’t done anything!”

 _“Liar_ ,” she accused, standing and slamming her hands on the desktop in front of her. Her ponytail girlfriend came forward to hug Zethrid around the waist in an attempt to calm her. At least, that’s what he hoped.

It didn’t do much for Zethrid, though.

“I know you were the person he was meeting on Nonstreiter. _Where is he._ ”

Lance waved his hands frantically, trying to portray his innocence. “Seriously, it wasn’t me! We were working together, but the Blade of Marmorra showed up.”

Ponytail girl’s interest was apparently piqued as she leaned over to look at Lance through the screen. “The Blade again? Seriously? Man, they really have it out for us.”

“Again?” Lance asked, but shook his head. “Never mind. Anyway, Lotor is in Blade Headquarters, and I know exactly where he is. I need you to help me get him out.”

“You could be lying,” Zethrid said again. “How do we know it isn’t a trap? How did you get into the lord prince’s personal spacecraft?”

Lance shrugged. “Guessed the password.”

Zethrid frowned. “Well . . . tell me what it is, human . . . I’ve been trying to figure it out for ages.”

Lance winced. “Uh - yeah, I don’t remember. But, will you help me free Lotor?”

Ponytail girl crossed her arms, looking every bit conniving as she seemed sweet. “What do we get out of it?”

“Besides Lotor?” Lance retrieved the compass stone from the compartment in his breastplate. _“This_.”

. . .

The generals gave him instruction on returning the cruiser to their base, welcoming him inside albeit hesitantly.

He disembarked, looking around the massive hangar with nothing short of wonder.

“He’d better be telling the truth,” Zethrid mumbled, and her girlfriend soothed her in response.

They led him further in anyway, and as they reached what looked to be the war room, he almost didn’t notice the third general, Narti, in the corner. She was so still, he easily could’ve missed her.

“Hi Narti,” he mumbled, trying to be polite.

No response.

“Okay, see that’s cool, ‘cause I get that sometimes people just don’t wanna talk, so you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, I’m just trying to be polite since I’m in your base and all -”

“Stop talking,” ponytail girl interrupts with a disgusted look.

Lance pinched his lips together, and hummed his agreement.

From there, he pulled himself together and gave them the rundown on his plan. He didn’t have much time to think on it, but that’s what he had. However, the generals quickly proved why exactly they’d been given such esteemed positions - his plan, thanks to the Galra women, was now seamless. He just had to count on most of the Blade being deployed on mission.

“I know how we can find out,” he told them, and surfed his communications log through his helmet visor.

He selected Keith’s name, and gave him a communications request.

As he waited, he realized the generals were staring - waiting for him to do something.

“Oh - I’m calling my buddy. He’s part of the Blade.”

Ponytail girl raised a brow.

He tapped his foot, hoping Keith would answer soon.

“It doesn’t look like you contacted him,” Zethrid explained helpfully. “Ezor, I think we should kill him.”

Ezor’s ponytail swung in a way somehow terribly intimidating as she threw her weight onto her hip. “That sounds nice.”

“No, no,” Lance insisted, panic rising. “No need for drastic measures -”

“Eh,” Zethrid sighed. “Just teasin’ you.”

Lance nodded slowly, but his hackles were raised. “Right . . .”

Suddenly, someone else appeared in the entryway.

“ _Ah_ -” he shouted, and hid behind Zethrid before he knew what he was doing. She glared with astounding rage, and he quickly righted himself, taking many steps to the side as he regained his composure after that _embarrassing_ reaction. “I, ah - I saw a spider. An alien spider,” he clarified.

The new woman is almost offended at my presence. “What is that?”

Ezor examines her claws, almost bored. “A Voltron paladin. He’s helping us rescue Lotor.”

“Rescue Lotor? From _what_?”

“He says the lord prince has been captured by the Blade, Acxa.”

Lance saw an opportunity to jump in, wanting to at least get the pretty Galra girl to notice him. “Actually, he willingly turned himself in as a show of good faith.”

“And look where that got him,” Acxa scowled. “So, what, are we working with Voltron now?”

“No, just the one paladin.”

Acxa’s eyes widened, and Lance came up short when he noticed that hers looked so similar to Lotor’s.

“Oh,” she drawled. “So we’ve picked up the stray.”

Lance frowned as his designation, and the general continued.

“Getting bored of helping anyone willing to take advantage? _Where’s your lion, paladin?_ ”

Ezor’s brow furrowed, and Narti stepped forward, away from the shadows. “Yeah,” said Ezor. “Where _is_ your lion? Aren’t you the blue one?” she asked, gesturing toward his armor.

Lance groaned. _“No_ , I’m the blue paladin and used to fly the blue lion, but then I had to fly Red for a while, but then Red . . . uh, you know. Yeah.”

Narti stepped forward, a surprisingly gentle hand landing on his shoulder. “But then Red, what?”

He shook his head. “Well, she needed a break. Recharge. Yup.”

Narti let her hand fall, and Lance knew he hadn’t fooled anybody.

“So, stray, how do you plan to rescue the lord prince?”

Lance did his best to put on a charming smile - even though he could honestly drop right here and now for a nice long nap. But, he knew he had to focus on what was actually important. “Alright Acxa, you actually have a super important part in this.”

. . .

Part of the plan included donning new, inconspicuous armor.

While he might've been wildly uncomfortable out of his blue paladin armor (which sat sadly in the corner, folded semi-nicely), he was definitely excited to check out Galra armor.

Acxa stood with arms crossed, leaning against a desk, while Ezor went to fetch a suit for him.

As he looked around, he had to admire the place. It seemed like Lotor had an entire room dedicated to his inventions. Various unfinished suits hung on humanoid mannequins along one wall, and the rest of the floorspace was cluttered with hunks of metal, pages with scribbles and diagrams, and two other desk spaces with mess to match.

"Wow," Lance mumbled. "Lotor really likes inventing stuff, doesn't he?"

Zethrid scowled at him, shifting her weight. "That's the Lord Prince to you, Earthling."

Lance smirked to himself. Man, if everyone back on Earth knew that aliens really do call us Earthlings, they'd go wild.

"What's so funny?" Zethrid challenged, taking a threatening step forward.

Lance stepped back, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Nothing, nothing!"

Just then, Ezor returned with an all-white suit slung over her arm.

Lance had to admit—he was confused. "Aren't your colors more, I don't know . . . purple and orangey?"

"Try it on," she said, leaving no room for argument as she joined Acxa by the desk. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Lance blinked. "I—um, here? Right—right now?"

"What's the big deal, stray? You've got under armor on," Acxa pressed.

He couldn't help the small blush that spread to his cheeks. Holding up the suit in front of him, he devised a plan for putting it on with minimal embarrassment.

He managed it well enough, and as soon as it was on, he had to admire it. After all, it fit him pretty well. "Wow, did Lotor make this? It actually fits me pretty well."

Acxa stepped forward, curling her fingers inside the right side of his collar. He nearly flinched away, but something clicked on his suit, and as she stepped away, Lance looked down to see the suit molding itself to him for a more snug fit.

"Whoa," he gushed. "This is way cool, how did you do this?"

The women ignored him again, circling him like alien vultures.

"How does it fit?" Ezor questioned.

Acxa spoke up as well. "Can you figure out the calibration or do you need help? The interface is displayed entirely in our language after all."

Lance pursed his lips as his visor lit up. True enough, the entire thing was in Galran codeform. "Would it be able to adapt to my language?"

Ezor pouted in thought. "I mean, it's not something we know very well and therefore the translations would be way off."

Lance frowned, removing the helmet and twisting it in his hands to take a look. He paused as he found a certain outlet behind where his neck would go. He'd seen the same thing on his Voltron armor.

"Hey, Narti, could you pass me my—"

Lance only caught his blue paladin helm because he'd trained his reflexes so well. He passed Narti a curious look.

"Uh, thanks."

With a helmet in either hand, Lance stepped forward to search around the desk area. During his search, he found the new suit to be surprisingly lightweight and comfortable. He might have to ask Lotor for upgrades on the paladin armor, but until then . . .

"Perfect!" He said, snatching a particular cord from the floor at the end of the desk.

The women frowned, and circled around him as he kneeled to connect his helmets by the wire.

"What are you doing?" Acxa questioned.

Lance stuck the blue helmet on his head, following the prompts that appeared. "I figure I can probably just use the aethernet adapter cord to connect the two and sync my language settings. That way, not only can I understand the new UI on the white helmet, but you guys will have a translatable copy of my language programming that you can use after I'm done with the suit."

His muttering was met with silence, and as he took the paladin helmet off, preparing to don the white one once again, he looked up at their quiet forms with frizzy helmet hair and wide eyes.

"Know what I mean?"

The generals wore varying forms of mild confusion on their faces.

"Nope."

"Not really."

"Honestly, Lotor is more the brains, and we're the brawn. That's how you Earthlings say it, right?"

Lance just laughed. "Of course he is."

The white helmets' processing speed was nearly thirty percent faster than the paladin armor, impressively enough. By the time he put it on, the download was finishing up.

For a moment, everything cleared, and his visor was blank.

_Quiznack, was he wrong?_

But the visor lit up once more, the entire display now decked out in American English, with his backup defaults set to Cuban Spanish. " _Sick_."

Zethrid stalked forward, Narti following behind like a shadow. "Don't tell me you're feeling ill now. We're about to leave on mission!" Zethrid turned to Ezor. “I told you humans don’t normally have those dark marks on their eyes!”

Lance frowned. The eye bags he had were pretty bad, sure, but he’d been through a lot lately! A solid night of sleep would fix everything, but there was no time for that now. “Well—it’s just a figure of speech, it means like, _cool_.”

Ezor nods. “Okay, so do we need to recalibrate the thermostats too?”

“I . . . No, Ezor. Sick is _cool_ , and _cool_ means—I don’t know, like, you enjoy something?”

“Oh.”

Lance nods slowly, pretty amused but also trying to focus on the problem at hand. “Problem solved on the language barrier. Do I get to test out the suit?”

Acxa and Ezor share a conniving grin, and Lance was quickly learned that that’s _never_ good.

“Sure you do,” Acxa drawled.

. . .

They gave him a sandwich. A Galra-style sandwich, anyway, and while he might normally hesitate with alien foods, he was quiznacking hungry.

He ate ravenously, elbows resting on the white helmet in his lap. “This is pretty good, Zethrid. Thanks!”

She looked back from the front pilot seat of the cruiser, and with a glint in her eye, gave him a nod.

Ezor looked over him, slightly amused but mostly unimpressed. “You know your helmet retracts into your suit, right?”

Lance swallowed before speaking, feeling more awake with food in his stomach than he had in days. “I might’ve known that if I’d had the chance to practice with it before we left!”

“I’m not going to leave the Lord Prince with those Marmorra crazies any longer,” she bites back. “It can’t be much different than your paladin armor anyway.”

Lance felt the unease at the mention of the paladin armor, still tucked away in a corner of Lotor’s tech lab. Maybe . . . that wasn’t such a good idea. But what choice did he have if he wanted to get the generals’ help? He’d even left his _bayard_ —but he couldn’t risk the Blade finding out who he is.

 _It’s for the good of the universe_ , he told himself.

Acxa sat on the other side of the booth they had for a backseat, sharpening her knives silently.

Ezor puts a hand up to whisper obviously. “ _She’s getting in the zone_.”

Lance nodded, sparing another glance at Acxa, who paused her sharpening to stare at him. And quiznack, that glare gave him the chills.

But somewhere along the ride, he got into his zone too. He familiarized himself with the Galran weapons as best he could, practicing drawing his rifle and aiming, as if he hadn’t the time to hesitate. The sword they gave him was curved and balanced way differently than an Altean broadsword, so he did his best getting familiar with that too. They’d given a quiet laugh at his attempts at first, but growing accustomed to different weapons was what he’d been training for recently, and their laughter didn’t last long.

“Approaching coordinates,” Zethrid says calmly from the front.

Everyone pauses their preparations to look out at our destination. Blade Headquarters, exactly as it had been when Lance was there last.

“Alright,” he said. “Remember; Lotor was moved to their high security wing, section C-B, cell 12. I’ll see you there, Ezor.”

“C-B-12,” she agrees, ponytail swinging as the group gathers by the hatch.

Zethrid speaks up again from the pilot’s seat. “We’ll be visible in ten ticks. Opening the hatch door now. Prepare to dive in three, two—”

Ezor and Acxa jumped first, Lance taking a deep, centering breath before following. _“One_ ,” he heard, and launched himself out of the cruiser, followed by Narti.

They had to travel a ways with just their suit propulsion to avoid triggering the countless layers of security measures the Blade no doubt had in place. It took Lance an extra tick to sort out the controls, but this was easy enough. After all, this rescue mission was to be his trial run of the suit.

And if the suit failed, Lance failed—an outcome the paladin couldn’t afford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else miss ABLY as much as I did? Because I did


	12. Fool's Errand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna treat Lance so right.

They split up immediately-Lance and Ezor to circle around and meet at Lotor's cell, Narti and Kova to secure Lotor's possessions, and Acxa to distract Keith.

If only it were that easy.

The alarm sounded only moments after they split, the overhead lights pulsing in time and limiting Lance's ability to keep himself aware. No doubt, a tactic the Blade had trained themselves against in order to use it to their advantage.

They'd all expected it, planned for it, but Lance had hoped regardless that he might be able to get at least a bit farther before the Blade came crashing down.

The passage he had entered was empty, but he found the vents were too small to crawl into as a variety of Blades appeared.

He'd whipped out his blaster rifle, intentionally favoring his ride hand instead of the left he preferred, but he saw a blade call his location in to command. Lance bit his lip, and with no time to waste, holstered his rifle across his back and charged forward with Galra blade in hand.

The Blades proved difficult-but this was exactly like level forty-five from the Castle's training simulator. And, luck might still be on his side-only four blades came to hold him off. That means his loose recollection of Keith's missions and their timing was right.

So, Lance decided to test this new suit-namely, the melee assist function. He had a full spherical view of his surroundings, enemies highlighted in red and even a prediction protocol that compensated any lack of efficiency in his own movements by estimating his enemies' next move.

The suit was _fantastic_ -he decided how he loved it, how amazing it had been and how lightweight and flexible he was allowed to be while in it-he almost didn't realize there was no one left to fight.

He took the opportunity to continue as fast as he possibly could, the map in the corner of his visor laying out the quickest path for him to follow to the prince.

To Lotor.

Then, suddenly, Lance felt a faint tremor rise from the floor-a tremor that didn't feel natural. It couldn't be, for a station this large.

He made himself keep going, and as he approached the cells, he realized.

He hadn't seen anymore Blades.

He paused again, catching his breath and contemplating his next move. He leaned back against the corner, shifting so that he could see the hall of cells that lie ahead. Deathly quiet.

He swallowed thickly, and took a minute to search his visor settings for anything useful.

And he found it.

The suit seemed to have thermal sensors that could penetrate walls. He set the radius to twenty feet and sent the pulse.

He watched unblinkingly as his visor displayed the findings of the scan-nothing in terms of people, alien or not. But one, small thing highlighted in green. Lance frowned at it. _What could it be?_

He twisted the armor around his forearm to activate a handheld shield, nearly as tall as him and weighing nothing. He held it in front of himself as he crept closer to the no doubt empty cell where Lotor was. As he approached it, barely catching a glimpse of the object that lie inside, he heard a small tick.

His eyes widened, and before his hope had time to fall, he was thrown back against the steel walls with colossal force-the shield broke instantly, his body cracking against the wall with the intensity of it, dizzied with the impact on his head.

All he saw was the fire.

They'd sabotaged this entire wing of the station, intentionally, as a trap. And he'd been stupid enough to go into it. If he'd focused harder, focused on Lotor and not this pathetic human curiosity, this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe if he'd just used common _sense_.

He wouldn't be struggling to breathe.

The wind had been knocked out of him in an instant, and without this armor, he certainly would've died. Quiznack, if he'd gotten blown up at this range in his paladin armor, he wouldn't even be conscious right now.

His vision blurred, and his lungs ached, as two blurry forms appeared above him.

He'd expected his visor to go down-the figures gripped his arms-but it held up, albeit with three blinking warning signals.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Okay . . ."

They dragged him along the floors, and even though Lance kept quiet enough to hear anything important, the Blades weren't dumb enough to talk.

So he gathered his strength, his breath, his senses-and when he was ready, he swept his legs up under their arms and over, using his weight to force them to release him while gaining his footing.

Their swords clashed instantly, but he'd caught them by surprise-and was able to down them efficiently enough. But a flash of red in his rearview scanner proved he wasn't fast enough to avoid the shove that sent him tumbling forward.

He rolled, turning to settle on his feet, gripping his Galra sword tightly as he stood eye-to-eye with Kolivan.

He rolled the sword in his right hand in a gamely sort of way, smirking underneath the helmet. Not by any sense of victory or confidence-but because of course this was just his luck. Lotor was moved, the generals didn't bother connecting him to comms, and now he had to fight the head of the Blade of Marmorra solo and with unfamiliar weapons and armor.

He was so dead. So, inarguably dead.

Kolivan squinted at him then, not saying anything, not moving—and Lance panicked suddenly as he wondered if Kolivan knew. If he _knew_ that it was him under this armor. Playing the role of someone he's not, and failing miserably. Maybe his lack of tact is what gave it away.

"You're bold to attack the Blade of Marmorra where we are strongest. Where you are disadvantaged."

Kolivan wanted him to talk—but Lance at least knew better than _that_. If he hadn't already given himself away, that would do it for sure.

"A fool's errand," he continued, a chill to his tone Lance had seldom heard—only ever in the strongest of his opponents.

He released a shaky breath, sinking lower in his stance and stilling himself.

Kolivan did the same, face hardening even more as he did so. "Paladin, I suggest you think through which side you're on."

 _Quiznack_ —Lance said nothing, despite wanting to say _everything_. He couldn't take the risk that Kolivan might just be guessing at his identity, but he wanted to tell him— _we're all on the same side_.

Lance waited for Kolivan to attack—he knew it'd be over and out of his favor if he were to attack first. So he played defensively, and defensively _only_. Long enough so that maybe one of the generals might find him. If they were even inclined to. For all he knew, they'd planned on leaving him here.

Kolivan did not strike, and so they were left at a tense stalemate. And Lance realized—the Paladins of Voltron and the Blade of Marmorra still had an active, benevolent alliance. If Kolivan attacked him, regardless of who Lance was rumored to be working with, it would be a serious breach of interstellar accord.

He wanted Lance to attack first—break the agreement, and use it as evidence of Lance's apparent betrayal. He decided he wouldn't give Kolivan the opportunity.

But he couldn't ask where Lotor was, either.

Kolivan seemed to sense Lance's realization, because he ordered reinforcements on his location.

Lance didn't need to stay any longer—he ran. He let his sword carry itself, his own momentum keeping it out of his way while preventing it from inhibiting his speed. Basically, Lance tried a Naruto run. And it worked _fantastically._

It also allowed him to, as Blades appeared in the following passages, use his momentum to attack them in a way that allowed him to continue running and disable them at the same time.

But as he passed through another gate, he eyed the keypad beside it. And idea formed in his head, and he didn't hesitate to enact it. He still held the Galra sword limply at his left side, but upholstered his rifle from his side and fired a few clean shots at the keypad as he ran by.

As he suspected, the gate automatically shut down and locked itself in emergency mode, putting an effective barrier between he and the Blades. Most importantly, Kolivan.

Relief filled him as he realized he at least bought himself time, but the wind was knocked out of him again as he barreled into someone charging the adjacent way at the intersection of the halls.

Lance landed on top, and without wasting a second, held the victim of the crash at gunpoint.

Lotor smiled widely, fangs glinting in the pulsing lighting. Lance still fought to catch his breath as Lotor looked up at him disarmingly.

"How noble of you to come to my rescue, my sweet."

He nearly gaped at Lotor's lax attitude. With a huff, he holstered his weapon, and swung himself off of the prince, giving him a hand to rise.

But Lotor had stood closer than the expected—and though his visor was designed to shield his face, he could've sworn Lotor could read his expressions like a book.

Narti and Kova stood impatiently behind him, and Lance realized he was already full kitted, armor, weapons and all.

"How . . ."

"We will have to discuss that later. For now, we must return. Come."

The order was clear, and Lance was glad to have one to follow. Quiznack, he was glad that Lotor was not only okay, but seemed just fine. He had been worried of torture, or crueler methods—the Blade of Marmorra weren't as lawful as other members of the alliance, they'd do what they had to to achieve their goal—but seeing the Prince alive and well had him feeling lighter than he had in a while.

Finally, something had gone his way.

As they approached evac, a wall of Blades stood between them and the way they came in.

Lotor stepped in front of Lance—not enough to get in his way, but enough for Lance to do a double take.

Lotor grinned, this time, with malice in crooked fashion. "Easy now, Blades. Allow our exit and we might let you live."

He'd admit—the words startled him a bit. Made him hesitate. But he had to remind himself—of all the times Lotor had been in a position to take a life and refused.

He told himself they were just words meant to intimidate—but he would definitely be grilling the prince on his language later.

The Blade didn't hold back like Kolivan did. They came full force, and Lance met them with the prince at his side and Narti at the other end. He strived to prevail—and embarrassingly enough, found himself trying to impress. _Impress who?_ Certainly not Lotor? The man was admittedly not ugly, but this wasn't the time, the place—Lance was always way to good at falling for the wrong people at the wrong moments. He had to be better, so he tried shoving Lotor from his mind.

But it all became a struggle when he was outmatched six to one, and it was all he could do to hold his own. The melee assist was a lifesaver, and as he stepped back to join Lotor, trusting that the prince would defend his back while he did the same, he managed to successfully push them back.

Rescue came—swiftly, and with grand entrance. Ezor and Acxa had joined together, toying with Keith like the cruel generals they were, but pushed him back until he was trapped in the center with the other Blades, who were now surrounded by us on either side.

Lance was hopeful—and then the compound shook. Worse than it had before, when he nearly got blown up.

Blinking at the other end of the passage, where smoke and alarms and a small fire had appeared, he nearly started _laughing_ as Zethrid climbed out of the cruiser totally unharmed, and yelled out a fierce, excitable battle cry.

She swept through the group of Blades with brute force—and it proved to their advantage. Zethrid was not only a force to be reckoned with, but the Blades were seldom a group of brute force. And in close quarters, like this melee, they couldn't possibly excel.

He was surprised to find that he was almost— _almost_ —having _fun_.

He let out a short hiccup of a laugh, when a still smiling Lotor took him by the elbow and took a few steps back.

" _Your armor thrusters_ ," he said simply, and Lance nodded, knowing what he meant.

The generals had been kind enough to at least guide him through activating his suit's thrusters before they'd dropped.

Lance waited for it, ready, and when Lotor gave the signal, they ran—they ran, and when faced with the small horde of Blades, Lotor led him _up the walls_ and over to the evac location beside the other generals, thrusters propelling them.

Lance let out an excited shout, pushing himself off the wall with a dramatic flip, letting Lotor push him toward the banged-up cruiser. As he looked back, concerned for the generals despite their obvious skill, he witnessed Narti down three blades before laying down a thermite grenade, putting a flaming, sparking barrier between them and the Blades.

" _Sick_ —" Lance gasped. He _definitely_ needed some of those.

Lotor looked him over in concern, guiding him to the passenger seat as the prince settled himself into the pilot's.

The cruiser fired up, and as Lotor slowly backed away, Lance watched as the generals dodged debris and throwing weapons all from behind them, settling themselves in the back and shutting the doors.

Nothing needed to be said—the slam of the doors was all the communication Lotor required, backing out of the gaping hole they'd created in the wall of the compound.

But the cruiser shook with the force of a blow as the alarm sounded.

" _We need to make a portal_ ," Ezor shouted, taking a seat at one of the stations beside the pilot.

Lance's brow furrowed as they received another blow, but his eyes then caught the passenger control panel in front of him. He leaned forward, and as he surveyed the screen, he was pleasantly surprised as his visor offered a translation.

" _Yes please_ ," he mumbled to himself, and as the text formed into a loose translation of American English, he noticed that he was able to access the rear weapons system from here. " _Hell yes_ ," he said with a grin, and switched to manual control.

A new part of the control panel unlocked itself, giving Lance access to the entire rear system. The screen became a two-handed degree panoramic view of the rear of the cruiser, and Lance saw what their problem was.

" _They're too close on our tail, we'll have to lose them before we jump_ ," he shouted, and hoped it was loud enough for them to hear.

As he gripped the control sticks, he hoped this would work a little more like an arcade game.

It was close enough, and he managed to take two of them out when three more joined.

"The _quiznack_? Zethrid I thought you said you were gonna distract them?"

Zethrid growled at him from her station. "I did, but they aren't any ordinary opponents. They're the Blade of Marmorra, they noticed I'd put it on auto-pilot!"

Lance grunted, focused on taking out the tails. It was fair enough, but way less convenient for them. Lance threw the guns into auto-aim while he searched for any alternative. His eyes widened at the other weapon listed.

He switched them out, and as he entered manual firing again, he let loose a hail of bullets. The Blade cruisers hardly had time to evade—and only two were successful.

" _Wahoo!"_ He said, heart pounding as he took them out. He'd almost felt guilty, until he remembered that Keith mentioned how they pilot from a remote location. He gasped as the bullets made a sweeping slash across an entire cruiser. "What the quiznack is this firing rate?" He asked incredulously—he _had to ask_.

Acxa smirked at him the moment he looked back. "Nearly seven-thousand rounds a dobosh."

"Seven-thousand? _No way_." But he believed it when he finally cleared their tail end of pursuants. " _Lotor, make the jump!_ "

The prince answered only with a fanged smirk, and Lance's eyes widened as a wormhole appeared before them, the spinning, runic circles of light swallowing them whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this fanfic with my whole heart UGH. Writing it just makes me feel better.


	13. Friend or Foe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff x Feels 💕

For the moments after they emerged from the other end of the wormhole, all that would he heard was the sound of their labored breathing.

They'd leaned back in their chairs, Lance focusing on pushing away the ringing in his ears.

The silence of the proximity scanners was comforting, and as he still fought to calm his heart, he watched with tired eyes as Kova made her way from Narti's shoulder to Lotor's lap. The prince stroked the alien cat's fur in lazy strokes, with nimble fingers. Lance watched silently.

Lotor finally broke the silence. "I do so love fighting the Blades. What sporting opponents they've always been," he comments, a hint if passion in his tone. "It's terribly refreshing, isn't it?" He asks no one in particular.

The generals hum in response, and after that, well—Lance was too tired to keep himself awake any longer.

. . .

When he opened his eyes, he wasn't sure where he was—but he wasn't scared.

He was laying down, he realized. And the prince—Lotor—sat on a ledge beside him. He didn't meet Lance's eye, perhaps not yet realizing he'd woken.

Lance took his time taking it all in.

Lotor sat on the floor, looking over to a couple monitors at the messy desk a few feet away. The ledge under him descended into a pool-like structure, and the water that flowed patiently in it reflected an almost golden light. Lance found himself nearly submerged in this pool—head held above the water only so that it reached the tips of his ears. The rest of him was beneath the surface, donned only in a fragment of his under armor.

Lance frowned groggily. "You . . . cut my under armor?"

Lotor's head whipped around to face him, eyes wide before the prince managed to school his features. "Paladin. How do you feel?"

Lance blinked, taking another moment to absorb his surroundings before answering. "I'm good, why?"

Lotor's shoulders seemed to unwind with some sort of relief. _Could it be that the prince was concerned for him?_ The thought made Lance feel warm.

But what was cause for concern?

"Lotor?"

Prince Lotor gave a smile then, leaning back on his right hand while his left was propped up on his bent knee. "Apologies for the damage to your under armor. The healing pool works best on bare skin," he explained quietly. The sound seemed to echo easily in the empty room.

Lance looked down at his mostly bare body as a blush slowly rose to his cheeks and neck. "Right. Um . . ." He almost thought about maneuvering himself into a more appealing position, but decided against it—instead finding the monitors with his eyes and noticing an outline of what looked like his body displayed on the screen. "What's that?"

Lotor joined him in focusing on the monitor screens. "Oh, that's just a biologic scan for the healing pool. It monitors your wellbeing, functionality, etcetera."

Lance frowned. "Why am I in the healing pod?"

Lotor's lips pulled up into a gentle smile. "The pool, my sweet," he quietly corrected, and took a snow-white strand of hair between his fingers to fiddle with—an action that caught Lance's eye. "But my generals brought me up to speed on the mission—including the details of the explosive implant in cell C-B-12. I'd been concerned for your health before, but now, considering the explosion alongside your clear exhaustion and the fall in the caves of Nonstreiter, I feared the outcome of delaying the pool."

Lance blushed again. "Clear exhaustion," he mumbled, before speaking to be heard. "It's not that serious, I can handle it. Being a paladin isn't easy, that's just how it is."

Lotor frowned. "Clearly."

Lance looked away, toward the monitors again. "What does it say?" He asked hesitantly.

Lotor didn't look away from him, didn't avoid eye contact like he did. "It says you'd sorely needed the pool."

Lance scoffed. "It doesn't say that," he argued.

Lotor let out a loud laugh, the sound echoing strangely. "So stubborn, Blue Paladin. No wonder you were only at a sixtieth percentile."

Lance's heart skipped a beat. "Sixty percent? I was that low?" Lotor's brows raised in confirmation, and Lance's frown deepened. "You know what—I think your equipment just isn't calibrated for the human body."

"It's calibrated for _your_ body—considering I synced the information from your Paladin armor."

Lance sunk lower into the water, chin dipping below the surface.

Lotor noticed how quiet he'd become, and reached a hand forward for a feather light touch of his fingertips against Lance's defined shoulder. Lance didn't notice the touch until he was suddenly acutely aware of it.

He met the prince's gaze before he could stop himself, and looked over him as he spoke.

"It's alright now," he said so gently—too gently. "Besides, the healing pool did as it should. You're functioning at the ninety-sixth percentile as of now, and I'm working on finding a compatible meal for you."

Ninety-six?

Lance could hardly believe it, but shifting a bit, moving around—he was already noticing how easily he moved, how light his head seemed when it had felt so heavy for so long.

" _Wow_ ," he whispered, but had another thought. "Wait—Lotor, why weren't you in that cell? Did I . . . did I mark the wrong one?"

"No," the prince assured, pulling back. Lance suddenly missed his closeness, but wouldn't admit it. "The Blade has numerous wings of holding cells, and considered me a top-priority prisoner. They moved me on the hour."

Lance sighed in disappointment. "Of course they did." He should've known, should've _expected_ it. "But Narti found you? How did that happen?"

Lotor scoffed, a confident grin appearing so naturally. "Well, I'd been waiting for the right time to strike of course. When I heard the alarms, I could only assume it was my generals—you were a most pleasant surprise—and while they were distracted with you, I escaped and claimed my belongings. Narti happened to be there."

Lance's jaw nearly dropped. "So you could've escaped at literally any time?"

"Well, it would've been pointless if you and my generals hadn't been there to assist me. My escape was to be messy—the Blade is well accustomed to reconnaissance and stealth tactic."

Lance nodded, thoughts racing. He simply hummed in acknowledgement, distracted only as his stomach growled.

He winced, and leaned forward—quickly, because he hadn't realized how light his body felt—and Lotor was immediately there to stop him.

"No, Lance," he assured, and laid a warm hand in the center of his chest, dripping with water. "Stay in the pool. I recommend another varga, at least."

Lance shook his head, even as he conceded and leaned back again. He should be _doing something_ —training, or— "We have the compass stone, we're safe for now. What's next?"

Lotor looked up at the ceiling, back to playing with the long strand of his hair. "What's next is to make sure you are in prime condition, and I do not intend to rush the process."

Lance frowned, paranoia settling in his stomach and tearing into his emotions. "Why does it seem like your plan with the stone involves me a little too much? What are you plotting?"

Lotor leaned forward again, but Lance didn't sit forward to greet him. He should be keeping his distance—if he got distracted, one stupid mistake could ruin anything.

"Lance, please listen. Yes, I believe you are the key to the success of this mission, this plan—but I would never endanger you for it. Anything we do or have done is entirely at your whim. I will not hold you hostage here. You are free to come and go, and you are free to work with me. I prefer the latter, naturally, but I hope you understand—I would never wrong you this way."

He believed the prince—and he hated himself for it. On one hand, his instinct was without doubt in trusting Lotor. On the other hand, his track record of stupidity and naivete was clear.

He pushed his damp fringe away from his face, using the water of the bath to hold the wayward hair at bay. "Okay," he said simply.

". . . Okay?"

He heard the hesitance in the prince's tone, and wondered what the right thing to do would be. He hummed in response, but thought to himself, that he wouldn't be fooled. No one had the time for it. He'd keep himself in check the best he could.

Zethrid knocked at the doorless entryway of the room with a food tray. Lance turn his head to give an appreciative smile, the least he could do, and to his surprise, he got one in return.

He was embarrassingly shocked at the action, forgetting to turn back around until Lotor wordlessly handed him his food.

He ate ravenously, the food surprisingly good for something so foreign, and Lotor rose to sit himself in the chair at the desk by the monitors.

As Lance finished up, he noticed how intensely Lotor was watching the monitors. He was gathering the courage to ask, when Lotor seemed to sense his question.

"So, your body has nutrient translators that can convert substances into more beneficial substances?" He mused, without looking away from the monitors.

Lance snorted, smiling despite himself. He would admit he found Lotor's eagerness to learn about humans endearing, but he wouldn't act on that. "That's one way to put it, but yeah."

Lotor frowned down at the empty tray. "Humans . . . are _strange_."

Lance couldn't help but laugh. "Okay mister Galra prince, what about you then? Can you only get your nutritional benefits in their most blatant forms?"

The prince's eyes sparked. "Indeed, but we have an abundance of food provided by our planet that suits our nutritional needs. What is your food like?"

Lance's brows rose with amusement. "Um—abundant, but extremely varied. There are countless options."

"Countless?" Lotor was adorably surprised. "Tell me more."

So Lance spent his last remaining varga in the pool teaching this prince of humanity—how different lands produced different foods, how different cultures had different tastes. How some humans have allergic reactions to specific foods.

"How is it that the allergies are so specific and uncommon? Are those humans defects?"

Lance snorted. "I wouldn't say that to someone."

Lotor had the most determined expression set on his face as he took notes.

He had noted the time, though, and finally asked. "Can I get out of the pool now?"

Lotor was still distracted with his typing. "What? Oh, yes. You're at the ninety-eighth percentile now."

And man, ninety-eight percent felt fantastic—he rose to his feet, the golden-lit water dripping from every inch. He let himself stretch out, muscles and bones less aching and more waking. He felt truly healed—and better than he had felt in a long time.

As he released himself from the stretch, hand absentmindedly scratching at the back of his neck, he looked to Lotor, only to find the prince studying his every movement.

Lance wondered if it was because the prince might find him attractive. He hadn't wanted to risk entertaining the thought, but . . .

He couldn't help himself. It was in his nature. "Like what you see?" He asked innocently, but he knew his muscles would look great drenched in the golden water.

Lotor had only met his eyes once, taking the rest of the opportunity to study his body without shame. "Yes, I quite like the sight of you like this."

Lance blinked. Anyone he'd flirted with had seldom ever returned the sentiments in equal earnest. It left him unsure. Normally they'd brush him off, or if they were somehow intrested, they'd be all modest.

Lotor grinned mischievously as he stood. "Come, paladin. I have something for you in my lab."

Lance followed the order, stuck in his head—torn between everything.

But they didn't make it to the lab.

As they passed the bridge, Acxa called out to the prince. "Our proximity scanners have been triggered, but the scans show a single cruiser—it could only be up to two people."

Concern took over as Lotor walked briskly to see the scanners for himself, laying out orders to his generals to do a sweep.

Lance, having waited in the hall, startled as a figure appeared in his left peripherals. His instinct allowed him to dodge the first reach, but as he took in the small figure in Blade armor, he realized.

He allowed Keith to push him against the wall, his space dog Kozmo circling to flank him.

His friend hastily removed his mask, revealing his signature mullet and frantic expression. "What—" Keith paused, taking in Lance's situation and seeming thrown for a moment. "Where . . . what happened to your armor?"

Lance was still dripping from the pool, and covered only by the remnants of the under armor that Lotor had apparently cut into a pair of shorts. "Never mind that, what are you doing here? Who knows what—"

He looked over his right shoulder, and saw Lotor and his generals with blades drawn and expressions grim.

"Lance," the prince said carefully. "Is he friend or foe?"

Keith ignored them, still cornering Lance against the wall. "So you're on a first name basis now?"

Lance felt the embarrassment rising. "Yeah, so?" He pushed Keith away, for some reason not really wanting Lotor to see them so close.

Keith noted the action. There was a moment of silence as the red paladin bit his lip. Lance lifted an open palm to the Galra, inviting them to lay down their weapons.

Keith gathered his thoughts before standing tall. He looked over Lance again, voice quieter. "Kolivan knows it was you."

Lance felt himself pale. "Are you sure? I—I knew he suspected, but I was hoping that's all it was—"

"No," Keith said firmly, shaking his head. "He's studied us since the first time we let him board the Castle of Lions. He knows you're ambidextrous, he knows you switched sides to throw him off. He knows it's you, and that's not all."

Lance felt his stomach turning in anxiety. "What do you mean that's not all—what more?"

Keith met his eyes then, and with something akin to accusation, said, "Allura made a connection to the red lion."

Lance's throat closed as he felt the invisible knife impale itself in his chest. "Right," he said tightly. "So . . . Allura's piloting Red now?"

Keith nodded, resigned. "Yeah. Did something happen with you and Red? Why didn't you tell me?"

Lance felt himself grow flustered, and his lack of attire didn't help in the least. "I don't know!" He rushed, trying not to sound as defensive as he _definitely_ sounded—but he knew how it would escalate, it always did with him and Keith. "I thought you'd be mad or something—"

" _Why would I be mad_ ," he shouted.

Lance lost his breath, but spoke anyway. " _Because everyone's always mad at me!_ Allura hates me for even giving Lotor a chance—"

" _Can you blame her?_ "

Lance nearly choked on his words. "Do _you_ blame me?"

" ** _Yes_**." And with the second of silence that followed, Keith seemed to realize his mistake, backtracking. "No, _no_. But— _ugh_."

Keith drew his hands through his messy hair as Lance looked anxiously over at Lotor. Lotor met his eye steadily, and the action helped Lance remember how to breathe. The generals watched on with quiet interest.

"Look," he continues. "The way Allura sees it, you, someone she trusted, just sided with someone who annihilated her _entire race_ , not to mention the countless others she's trying so desperately to save."

Lance knew most of it already—he knew Allura couldn't have it easy right now—the last surviving person of her race, a princess no less—but one thing Keith said did dig deeper. Lance nodded to himself, feeling a cold blanket draw over him. "Trusted," he repeated quietly.

Past tense.

"Well," he continued, heart sinking. "Lotor isn't his father, I'm just sorry that she can't see that." And it wasn't a dig at the princess, but genuine regret. "I've never blamed her for how she feels, I . . . just tell her that I know I could never even imagine the weight of that kind of pain."

Keith took a cautioned step back, expression grim and chin lowered. "Why do you sound like you're not coming back?"

The red paladins voice was a whisper, and as Lance turned to Lotor for guidance, Lotor gave him a smile and nod. Each of the generals did.

Lance looked up at the ceiling with a sigh, leaning all his weight into the wall behind him, finding it cold against his bare back.

"I have something I need to do. Lotor, the generals and I are still making progress on our plan to stop Zarkon, and I plan to see it through. I . . . I may not be worthy to pilot a lion anymore, but there's still good here for me to do with them."

Ezor stepped forward, having left to retrieve something. As she passed it to him, he held the clumsily folded blue armor in his hands, and he took a moment to behold every scratch and dent in the metal. Marks he'd earned in battle.

"Don't do this," Keith said, stepping back as Lance offered the armor to him. Keith took it anyway, fingers bent with what was no doubt a white-knuckled grip. " _Don't leave_." His voice was strained, and Lance could relate—but he had to do the right thing, no matter how much it would hurt. " _We need you, Lance_."

"You don't," he replied, and was sure. "You don't, and neither do the lions, and that's fine. Things change—quiznack, you joined the Blade of Marmorra. This isn't any different."

He saw Keith's throat bob as his friend swallowed thickly, and he hated the gaping hole in his chest that widened when he wondered if he would see them again soon. If they would care that he's gone.

But he watched as Keith put his mask on—not the one belonging to the Blade, but his own, carefully crafted to guard himself from vulnerability. Lance realized he'd crossed some kind of line, somewhere. "Keith—"

His friend took a step back, kneeling beside the dog he'd befriended. "I'll pass your message on to Allura," he said coldly.

But he didn't want him to leave just yet. "Keith, wait—"

But the both of them disappeared, just as flawlessly as they had appeared in the first place.

The hall was deathly quiet as Lance took a step toward Lotor, fighting the tremors that ran up his body. "Did—Did I do the right thing? Lotor?"

To his relief, Lotor met him in the middle, stepping close. "Do you believe it was the right thing to do?" The man asked quietly, pushing a stray, damp strand of hair behind Lance's ear.

Lance blinked, searching himself, and finding that—beyond the hurt, beyond the anxiety and doubt, there was _relief_. "I . . . yes."

Lotor smiled fully at him then, and over the man's shoulder, his generals followed. "Then it must be," he said simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in a few hours . . . hope you like your #Langst


	14. Great Plans

"So," the prince drawled, casually stalking circles around where Lance stood. "How do you like your armor?"

Lance blinked down at the white boots of the armor before looking up at the Galra man. "Yours as in mine? This is for me? You made this for _me_?"

Lotor raised a brow, never faltering in his pace. "Yes Paladin, was that not clear?"

Lance felt a faint blush rise to his ears and neck. "I don't know . . ." He mumbled, still trying to process the fact that Lotor made an entire suit _specifically for him_.

Lotor grinned, his signature fang peeking out at his lip. "Well, give me a spin, let me examine the fit."

Lance felt the corners of his mouth turn up at the request, and obliged with a simple spin on his heels.

Lotor nodded slowly. "Okay, do it again, but this time, with a touch of _Lance McClain flair_."

Lance managed a heartfelt laugh, which surprised him considering he essentially just quit Voltron. "I have flair?" He asked amusedly, but he of course knew exactly what the man was talking about and gave a proper turn, complete with a model pose and the comic relief of finger guns.

Lotor pressed a hand to his chest, pretending to be shot by the hand gestures. "I am simply struck with awe," he says through a smile. But his eyes spark in that way they do, and he presses for information. "So how do you like it? Is it suitable for you?"

Lance huffed a laugh through his nose. "Yeah, it's great actually."

Lotor was quiet for a moment, and Lance realized he was waiting for more. "Well, give me more than that, Lance! Are the thermostatic settings to your liking? I cross-referenced your language settings to the different regions on your Earth and took into account your own body temperature but I'll admit I don't know quite enough about humans and your Earth so—"

Lance cut him off with a smile that hurt his face, waving his hands in front of him. "Wait, hold on, hold on. The thermostats are actually pretty spot on, but you're right. I do have a few improvements."

Instead of being offended, Lotor's eyes shone with excitement.

Lance wouldn't admit that he found it handsome.

. . .

They'd been working for hours—but as both men's eyes grew heavy, and voices quiet, they still lay awake on the floor of Lotor's lab.

Lance's neck hurt from being turned toward Lotor the whole time, but he didn't care. He found he enjoyed just watching the prince speak—prince-like in every way, whether it be in his words, or the way in which he somehow managed to appear regal whilst lying on the floor, snow white hair fanned outward in waves, surrounded by countless papers and parts that had been strewn across the floor.

Lance couldn't stop smiling.

And Lotor had been smiling for a while as well—listening patiently and attentively to Lance's ideas about the white armor.

"I also noticed that the visor display appears a little cluttered—it's not bad at all, but it got in my way a bit at the Blade HQ so—"

"Ah, yes," Lotor playfully interrupted. "When you heroically came to my rescue."

Lance laughed softly. "So did your generals."

"Ah, less heroic. I'll bet they didn't even miss me."

Lance worried for a moment that Lotor would be serious, that he might not have that faith in his generals—but was relieved to see that Lotor seemed to harbor absolutely no ill will or doubt. Lance wondered briefly how they managed that level of trust.

Lotor waited patiently for him to continue, so he cleared his throat and went on. "I'm thinking it would be easier if you made sub-categories and drop-menus to clear it up a bit. Also, I noticed there are a lot of words, and we probably don't need those—"

"Ah, I agree on that, however I added descriptions so you might have an easier time growing accustomed to the suit."

He felt the corner of his mouth tick upward. "Thoughtful of you—but now that I have time to properly train with the suit, we should be okay in disabling descriptions."

"Alright," Lotor said evenly, seeming to accept the criticism with open arms and making notes on a tablet. "Are there any functions you wish to add?"

Lance paused, and while debating asking Lotor about a replica of Pidge's "Bathroom Break" protocol, looked over to Lotor and realized his eyes were closed. He had only been thinking on the question for a few moments, but he guessed the prince must be tired.

The ex-paladin's thoughts washed away as he studied the sight of Prince Lotor, falling asleep with the tablet laid flat across his chest.

Lance brought both arms up to rest his head on them, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he came to be here.

He fell asleep to thoughts of the waves crashing gently against the Cuban sands.

. . .

He woke slowly, only opening his eyes when he felt the soreness of a strong sleep clinging to his muscles.

He blinked the blur away, and immediately his eyes landed on a seemingly innocent bowl of what almost looked like blueberries.

He sat up slowly, scanning the room in search of the prince. He seemed to be alone—and leant forward to examine the food left for him.

The berries smelled sweet, and looked more like some kind of grape, or maybe a quenepa now that he was closer. Feeling adventurous, he plucked one from the vine and popped it in his mouth.

His brows rose at the flavor, and as he stood, he took the bowl in hand to bring it with him.

For a minute, he enjoyed being alone with his breakfast. He snacked on the berries, sometimes throwing one up in the air to catch it in his mouth, other times bouncing it off of a surface to the same destination. (Note: violet berries are very bouncy.)

Admittedly, he was snooping. He casually looked through the various notes and screens across the various desks about the lab. Most of it he couldn't understand, all written in Galran script. He did find hand-drawn images of the compass stone, and a depiction of some kind of astral mass that he didn't recognize.

He hummed to himself in bemusement, throwing yet another berry into his mouth whilst reaching down with the other hand to flip the page.

He paused as he took in the messy scrawling that took the form of what looked like . . .

Allura's markings?

No . . . just _Altean_ markings. Coran has them too.

But these drawings showed different versions of these markings on different species, as if it would be possible? Are they hybrids, like Lotor's generals?

The images were hard to decipher without knowing the words—Lance looked around, spotting the white helmet shoved in a corner with the rest of the suit. He retrieved it, placing it over his head to allow the translation algorithm to decode the Galran language for him.

He blinked as the words appeared—a number of words highlighted. _Marks of the Chosen_ , on Alteans, Galra, _Humans_.

He flipped the page back, heart pounding.

 _Great Expeller_.

He frowned, and read downward. The translation was sloppy, but effective enough. He read quickly, _a region of space time and singularly, emitting light and quintessence_ —

He slammed his helmet on the desk, some of the papers flying. A white hole. But what had angered him, what had shocked him, was the note scrawled at the bottom.

Underlined, _Patrulian Zone_. And circled a thousand times over, _Oriande_.

The echoing of the bowl falling to the floor met his ears—and the scheming prince finally appeared at the doorway. He didn't hesitate to meet Lance at the desk, noting the bowl on the floor.

Lotor seemed suspicious of Lance's change in energy, but apparently didn't realize it's severity when he picked up the bowl from the floor with a hopeful smile. "Did you like the fruit? They are from my home region. We brought them over from Diabazaal before it's ruin—"

But Lance smacked the bowl out of his hands before he could even think about what he was doing—the prince took on a blank, stone-faced expression the second the bowl hit the floor for the second time.

"You're searching for the White Lion of Oriande? What are you trying to do Lotor, get us _killed_?"

"Paladin," the prince started with a dark tone, but Lance interrupted.

"I'm not a paladin anymore."

Lotor pursed his lips. "Lance. The white lion would be the most vital asset in our cause."

Lance scoffed. "At what cost?" He asked incredulously. "Assuming we can even make it through the Patrulian Zone, which no one _ever does_ , you want to, what," he referenced the notes again. "Enter this white hole? Who would survive that?"

"The expeller? Lance, I've spent a good portion of my life studying Oriande. I am _sure_ it lies in the Patrulian Zone, and you can—"

" _I can what?_ " But his voice quieted to a whisper as he looked to the white armor he was gifted and realized. "You . . . no."

Lotor frowned. "No, what?"

"You—you want me to be a paladin, don't you? For the white lion? That's _impossible_ —"

"No, it's not," the prince argued, with power in his voice that rivaled his father. It shook Lance to the core. "It is possible. Oriande, without doubt, lies in the Patrulian Zone."

"You can't make me do this."

Lotor scowled. "I would _never_."

"Then why didn't you tell me what your _great plans_ were?"

"Because I wanted to ease you into it! I was afraid of scaring you away, Lance. I can't explain to you how important you are to me—"

"What, so you can get what you want like always?"

" _You_ are what I want."

And Lotor might as well have wrapped a curling fist around his heart, because as much as he had wanted to hear those words for so long—he couldn't be sure. He couldn't trust them.

"What does that mean?" he dared ask, voice tamed and quieter.

Lotor's brows furrowed. "I . . . I fear I would be lost without you."

He didn't know how to respond, still didn't know what the prince meant. He sighed in frustration, picking up the white armor and the pale gray under armor laid beside it. He also retrieved the helmet from Lotor's desk. "Do you have somewhere I can train?"

Lotor nodded slowly, looking grimly at the bowl tipped on its side on the floor. "I do. Follow me."

. . .

When he asked to train, he assumed Lotor would leave him alone.

Yeah. That didn't happen.

Lotor remained on the sidelines the entire time, and _watched_.

Lance grunted as he was thrown to the floor by a Galran foot soldier bot. They're the exact model that Zarkon employs on his battleships and whatnot.

Normally, they're easy enough to take out, but it looked like someone made some tweaks to the programming.

And Lotor watching him get tossed around only made the twisting dark feeling in his chest grow stronger.

Why wouldn't he just _leave_.

It was bad enough that he had to deal with regular weaponry as opposed to his bayard, which he returned to Keith with the rest of the armor—but Lotor witnessing everything weak about him was about to throw him off the edge.

And then, the prince halted the simulation. Or the protocol, whatever he'd started.

Lance had been mindlessly beheading and stabbing and taking the bots out—maybe he wasn't supposed to do that? He didn't know how many bots Lotor had.

The prince pushed off the wall and stalked toward him, smile still yet to be seen. He hadn't so much as hinted at a smile since Lance's rudeness back in the lab, and while he regretted it a little bit, he felt slighted at being kept in the dark.

He was good enough to be trusted. Or, he wasn't and needed to be better.

"You're clearly used to the Altean broadsword, am I correct?"

Lance nodded, not trusting himself to speak with the breathlessness of his exertion and rage.

Lotor seemed to understand well enough. The man reached for his hip, and held out—

Lance was thrown. "Is that the _black bayard_? _Seriously_? You quiznacking had it this _entire time_?"

Lotor handed it over wordlessly and Lance took it in his own hands.

"What—what am I supposed to do with this?" He asked incredulously, waving his arms around in frustration. "It's not going to respond to me—"

But he was cut off by the bayard transforming into the Altean broadsword form—Lotor wisely evading the blade as it lengthened and nearly touched his throat.

Lance stared and gawked as the blade caught a few of Lotor's stray hairs, and severed them, leaving the white strands to float to the ground.

The men blinked at each other.

He didn't have _words_. What was the black quiznacking bayard doing responding to _him_? Or to Lotor, for that matter?

"What—" he stuttered. "What did you do to it?"

Lotor frowned deeply, pushing the blade away from his face and pinching the few short hairs he now had. "I haven't done anything to alter it," he said. "But you must know better than I how fickle the lions can be."

The words hit home, and Lance was struck silent. He didn't know if Lotor was talking about the actual lions or the people that piloted them, but either way, he knew more than Lance had expected.

Lance stared down at the black bayard wordlessly as Lotor continued. "Despite what your Altean princess would have you believe, the lions are not fully sentient. They are not all-knowing and immaculate, not like the one true lion. The lions of Voltron are subject to their paladins."

"How would you know?"

"Is your situation not proof enough?"

Lance scowled, feeling the bite of the words dig into him. "If you're trying to win me over, this isn't the way to do it," he said, spite lacing his words. "Throwing the lions back in my face won't do you any favors."

Lotor's brows furrowed further. "I apologize for any offense, Lance, as it was not my intention to harm you. I only mean to make a point. The lions of Voltron are sorely unprepared to face my father, as powerful as Voltron may be."

Lance pointed the sword downward and rested his weight on it. "Voltron is more powerful than your father or anyone else in this universe," Lance argued.

"Only in the hands of those who could properly wield that power," Lotor countered, leaning in. "They are one paladin down and your princess is crumbling. Your coalition struggles to form. My father and his witch would have no trouble vanquishing Voltron—we need more than that."

Lance looked up to the ceiling, feeling his exhaustion run deep. "How can you be so sure the white lion would help us? How do you know we could even get to Oriande in the first place?"

Lotor's expression calmed as he noted Lance's willingness. "Because I've been there before."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do Cubans eat quenepas? Asking for a fic 😜
> 
> I won't lie I broke my own heart when Lance smacked the bowl out of Lotor's hands I'm so mean 🥺
> 
> How are we doing quarantiners? I hope you're all able to be happy. I'm struggling a bit right now with the isolation as well but it's for the greater good and just remember we are all here for each other 💕


	15. Starved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of feels and fluff in this oneeee

Having fully exhausted himself this time, Lance had quietly, breathlessly asked to be alone.

Lotor obliged—but brought blankets in equal silence.

And if there was anything Lance would thank the Galra for, it was for having blankets. He didn't know how he'd deal if there wasn't one wound around him right now. It was soft, and plush—and Lance had curled his entire self into it until he was just a fluff ball in the chair.

He'd settled himself into the chair so that he could rest his head on his arms along the desk. His favorite _feeling miserable for himself_ pose. Sometimes his hand lay limp across the compass stone, tracing the plain blue markings—other times he flipped through pages of Lotor's notes, attempting to learn everything he could about the plan, this situation in general. He knew that the potential for victory would always lie with the smartest person in the room—so he had a lot of catching up to do.

He'd learned a lot, in the hours he'd spent alone.

Lotor's rigorous notes and research outlined new knowledge for the ex-paladin. Firstly, Alteans weren't the only people who possessed Marks of the Chosen. In other races, marks are few and far between, but Lotor had detailed examples of the marks of each race. Alteans, with the more common, arrowed shape. Galra, with a staggered, rugged version of the same arrow, but pointed in the opposite direction. The other races had similar variations, but the human illustration was left blank.

Lance brushed his fingers gently against his cheekbones—would he have them? What would they look like?

What would happen if he _didn't_ have marks?

One needs Marks of the Chosen in order to be allowed entry into Oriande, according to legend—a theory strengthened by Lotor's research.

One also would find Oriande using the compass stone. But how was he supposed to activate it?

He ran a tired hand down the length of his face—oh, what he'd do for a spa day, or even a simple face mask right now.

Not only did they need the compass stone in tandem with the marks to enter Oriande, but the activating the compass stone is the only known way to track down the mythical place. The Patrulian Zone was a region he'd heard of, yes—but finding it would be a whole other matter. That region of the universe is far too chaotic to be properly tracked or even recognized on even the most evolved deep space scanners.

The information swirled in his head in a way that ached, and in an effort to rid himself of it for just a moment, he thought of other things.

He thought of his friends, and Voltron—were they already better off without him? Did they miss him? Who would pilot Blue, now that Red claimed Allura? Surely not Shiro, but really, how could he know? The lions were too unpredictable.

He missed them. But not as they were when he left.

He missed how it all started—how close they'd become. Or even before that, when times were far simpler. Training at the Galaxy Garrison with Pidge and Hunk, thinking of Keith as his rival when, really, the guy hadn't even noticed him.

Lance wished so badly for things to return to the way they were—he loved being a part of Voltron, when they were able to be a team. Before Shiro ever died, before Keith ever had to take on piloting Black. Back when Allura had hope in everyone, including him. If only he had tried _harder_ , trained _harder_ , focused more on training and missions and less on jokes and wit—

He hadn't heard Lotor announce himself—hadn't heard the prince even as he knelt beside him on the floor.

" _Lance_."

It was different from the way the other paladins spoke it—lightly, as Hunk did, or with accusation, as the rest did.

" _Lance_ ," the prince whispered—like the ex-paladin's name meant something. " _What is this?_ "

Lance turned to the prince, still curled into the chair, and blinked down at him.

Lotor tentatively reached his hand up—brushed gentle fingertips against the tears that streamed down.

Lance placed his hand over the one already there, before he'd had time to think about the action. He hadn't realized he was crying.

Lance swept his eyes over the prince's face, which was twisted into unfiltered concern as he looked up at him from the ground. He brushed his own fingers over the tears, over Lotor's touch, as if to prove both were there.

" _What is this?_ " Lotor whispered again.

Lance swallowed. "They're tears," he said, voice hoarse. "I'm sad—I'm crying."

Lotor took him in with gold and ebony eyes. "Your face is red, like that day on Nonstreiter. How long have you been sad?" He asked gently, brushing more tears away.

Lance closed his eyes at the gentle touch—how long had it been since someone touched him? _Hugged_ him? He'd been _starved_.

He opened his eyes again to see that Lotor's attention hadn't wavered. He swallowed thickly before responding. "A long time."

Lotor's concern only seemed to deepen, the prince curling his palm around Lance's cheek, thumb gently caressing the bridge of his nose—the warmth of it so addicting already.

 _Starved_.

"What do I do?" The prince asked.

Lance let out a deep, slow sigh. "Hug me," he said desperately, not caring if it was bold.

Lotor pursed his lips in a soft smile. "Oh, Lance," he said gently. "I don't know what that means."

Lance huffed, standing from the chair. The prince followed, standing to his full height as Lance re-situated the blanket so that it still covered the crown of his head. With the one hand, Lance guided Lotor in lifting both arms out, the prince kindly allowing the Cuban boy to wordlessly move him like a ragdoll. With the other, he clutched the silent stone and the corners of his blanket.

As soon as Lotor followed the direction, Lance let himself fall into the man's chest. He carelessly pressed his face into Lotor's torso, wrapping his own arms around the prince and holding tightly, the stone in the firm grip of his other hand.

Lotor was . . . comically confused, and Lance secretly rolled his eyes when he had to guide Lotor's arms around him. The Galra man finally got the gist, and tightened his hold on Lance.

And quiznack, just being held by him made Lance's chest tighten—not with any sort of sadness, either.

Lance felt Lotor's hesitation—not only was he tense, but Lance wouldn't tell him that he could hear how fast his heart beat.

"I'm . . . just supposed to hold you this way?"

Lance nodded, forehead pressing into the man's chest in a way he found comforting. Lotor obliged, and Lance could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"I—I'm unfamiliar with this. Is it working? Do you feel better? Is this common for you humans, then?"

Lance nodded again, squeezing tighter, and surprisingly, Lotor responded similarly. _Man, the guy really is all muscle_. The ex-paladin wondered briefly if he went too far—if the other paladins would approve, or how they would certainly scold him.

And decided, as he pulled back enough to speak, that he didn't care.

He looked up at a confused Lotor, and smiled to himself before asking, "What were you going to say, before? About those berries you brought me?"

If he hadn't shocked the prince motionless by now, he'd certainly would've done it with that question. He noticed how Lotor's eyes flickered to the floor beside him, as if he could still see the bowl in the floor. Lance pushed the lingering guilt back, and waited for an answer.

"The Galra brought them over from Diabazaal before it's destruction?"

Lotor blinked, and smiled, as if he was returning to his naturally charming and put-together demeanor. "Yes," he began. "That fruit was once the basis for most of our food variants, however since that time, our palette has expanded . . ."

Lance sat back in the chair, wrapped in the blanket and listened attentively to Lotor. The prince kneeled as he detailed some of the Galra's history, and Lance decided—he'd stop fighting it, whatever it was. Even if when it ends, it would bring regret or betrayal—he didn't want to push it away anymore.

He didn't want to push _Lotor_ away anymore.

. . .

Lotor paused, like he'd been interrupted, but Lance hadn't said anything.

"What?" He pressed.

The prince frowned, looking down toward Lance's arms. "You . . . how did you . . ."

Lance looked down, and as he shifted, the blanket fell away from his hands, revealing a cobalt glow—

Lance, started, jerking upright and nearly toppling forward off the chair.

 _The stone_ —it was _glowing_.

"Did—what's it doing? Is it activated?"

The prince was at a loss for words, and as Lance looked down at it, wide blue eyes reflecting the same shade of glowing light, hope bloomed inside him.

"Lotor, I—"

But the stone interrupted, and without warning projected a holographic . . . _map_.

"Quiznack . . ."

". . . _Stars_."

Lance laughed, and looked past the hologram that appeared between them, to find Lotor already looking at him.

The prince laughed as well, incredulously, fanged smile wide. He leapt forward, through the hologram, and took Lance's face in his hands. "You did it—you _did it_ ," he said excitedly, before releasing Lance just as quickly. His eyes were wide, as they always are when chasing new knowledge. The prince looked down at the holograph his body was interrupting, and Lance laughed as he stepped back. "I—I have to write this down," he rushed, diving for one of his notebooks. "In case it disappears—hold it out for me?"

Lance laughed again as he obliged, still feeling the warmth of Lotor's touch on his cheeks— torn between staring at the hologram and watching the excited prince. Lotor hastily drew a diagram in his notes, while Lance merely stared in wonder of what shone before him.

"Come," Lotor eventually said, and Lance blinked away his daze. The prince held out a hand. "I'll have my generals plot our new course," he rushed, and Lance slowly took his hand.

Lotor pulled him up quickly, and the ex-paladin laughed at his energy.

The prince led him at a brisk pace, talking to either Lance or himself—maybe even both. "From what I'm seeing so far, we could hyper-jump close enough to the Patrulian Zone by this time tomorrow if we start charging our energy now."

"Wow," Lance muttered, suddenly anxious. "Tomorrow? That's . . . Soon."

Lotor unexpectedly stopped in his tracks, guiding Lance's hand to the side so that the hologram couldn't obscure him. "Lance—I understand that I may have placed a lot on your shoulders. I wish we'd been able to take it slowly, or maybe that I could have explained it all to you properly. I suppose you were too smart to not catch on so soon," he chuckled teasingly, and Lance's emotions roiled—Lotor thought of him as _smart_? "But I'm not sending you into this alone. I am beside you, and I will be beside you for whatever may come. This fate we pursue does not rest solely on your shoulders—I will take some of that burden. On that, I'd swear my throne."

It helped—it did, because _yes_ , he _totally_ expected to have to do this alone. Hearing that Lotor wasn't just sending him out on his own . . . Lance could almost physically feel the weight of that burden lifting. He took a deep breath, gave Lotor a smile, and said a simple, and genuine, "Thank you." And then, because he couldn't quite help himself, continued with a touch of humor. "Your princely promise is duly noted."

Lotor laughed at that.

Lance felt far lighter than he had in weeks as he followed the prince to the bridge, where the generals stood at attention as he entered.

"At ease," he said coolly, and as the generals obeyed, Lance watched in awe.

Lotor had hardly been princely to him aside from their first interactions—with all the banter they'd had, Lance almost forgot how regal the man could be.

Lotor and his generals seemed to dance the line between formality and the opposite—sure, they'd saluted him as he entered, but they took _at ease_ quite seriously. At least, Ezor did—she lay on her back across the open floor, petting a frighteningly alert Kova, but Acxa and Zethrid had at least been crowded around the main controls, having an animated discussion about something or other.

They'd all greeted Lotor, and then, with a tinge of a shallow, yet sudden panic, he'd noticed that they had all turned their eyes to his blanketed form.

Ezor smiled with excessive warmth, gracefully rising from the floor and coming to tease Lance. "The human looks cute in your bed dress, my Lord Prince."

Lance wished she'd simply used the word blanket, because if she had, his face probably wouldn't be as flushed.

"Don't be fooled by their adorable and charming appearances," Zethrid called from her station. "I hear humans bite."

He frowned at that, but only in amusement in the realization that Galra seemed to think of the entirety of the human race as cute. "What, you guys think humans are cute?"

"Of course," Ezor quipped, pulling the blanket atop his head down to cover his face. As he pushed it back up to see, he found her suddenly next to him with an arm slung around his shoulders. "Especially when you put on battle armor and fly your little cruisers around your solar system—it's fun to see them all trying to look threatening. Really, Kova can be more threatening that what I've seen of humans."

Acxa stepped down from the bridge to approach he and the other two. "What, paladin? You haven't realized the charm your race possesses?" Acxa's intimidating grin faltered, and her chin tilted toward her shoulder as she seemed to think on something. Then, with less conviction, she asked, "Do you bite?"

"What?" Lance couldn't help the flush that rose to his cheeks from all the attention. "No—I mean, yes, but we don't make a habit of it. We have swords! And—you know, weapons and stuff. Crazy, crazy weapons—"

Ezor giggled to herself, pulling away from him. "Awe," she drawled. "They have crazy weapons, Acxa."

Acxa wore a rare smile then, laughing with her fellow general as they returned to Zethrid.

Still frowning, Lance turned to Prince Lotor, who watched with an . . . indecipherable expression. But that aside, he had to ask— "Do you really see us like that?"

The prince gave a simpering smile and shrug. "Essentially, yes."

Lance's brows furrowed further. "So . . . I'm not _cool_ or _ruggedly handsome_ in my armor? I'm just . . . cute?"

The prince continued to humor him, nodding.

Lance let himself dwell on the thought. "I . . . I can't believe . . . We're like—the universal equivalent to _dogs_."

Lotor casually raised a brow. "What is this _dogs_?"

"Dog singular, dogs plural," Lance muttered distractedly. " _Ugh_ , I thought I at least looked cool in my armor, this sucks." But then he snapped out of it. "Wait, you don't have dogs? You have cats—you have Kova, but not dogs?"

"No, I've never seen or heard of a dog before," he explained patiently, raising a hand to Lance's back to guide them both away from the control deck. "Though I have a feeling you're about to explain it to me."

"Oh, you bet your stars I am. They're the cutest animals in the whole universe—"

"Other than your race, I take it?" Lotor cut in.

Lance laughed, slightly shoving Lotor's side with his own. "Yes, way, _way_ cuter than humans. They're like cats, only a little bit bigger, and their tongues hang out sometimes, and—here, let me show you," he rambled, ducking into Lotor's research lab as they passed.

Lotor waited at the doorway for him to return, and when he did, he was struggling to keep the blanket on as he haphazardly sketched out a generic puppy. Lotor, who walked like a prince, with his hands clasped loosely behind his back and his head held high, leaned to the side a bit to get a proper view of Lance's artistry.

He kept accidentally sticking his tongue out, focused on trying to draw this dog— "There," he said, and held it out for the prince to see. "I mean, kinda like that. I'm not a great artist but do you see what I'm getting at?"

"I think so," the man said pensively, studying the drawing intensely for a moment before letting that hand fall to his side. After a moment of quiet, he finally had something to say about it. "Lance this is horrific."

"I—" Lance faltered in both tongue and step, looking up at the straight-faced prince with a contrastingly incredulous look. "Horrific? A puppy dog, horrific? I can't accept this—"

"What happens now that you do not accept . . . this?"

Lance stopped, and turned to look at him— _really_ look at him. "One day, I'm going to take you to Earth. I'm going to take you to my homeland, there are dogs _everywhere_. Maybe . . . I don't know, maybe you could even meet my family, if you wanted, but like— _only_ after all this is over, you know—"

 _"Lance._ " Lotor interrupted his semi-nervous rambling, and Lance stopped breathing for a moment. The prince's eyes held a curious glint as he spoke. "I look forward to it."


	16. Vessel

"Wait," Lotor said, holding a hand out to halt them both. "I have something I want to show you before we approach Oriande."

As the prince approached a door off to the right side, Lance yawned. "Can it wait? I'm beat," he mumbled, rubbing lazily at his tired, sore eyes.

This took the prince by surprise, and as Lotor doubled back to give him a concerned once over, Lance caught on.

"It's just a phrase that means I'm sleepy, Lotor."

The man's face immediately softened with the relief of his new understanding. "It will only take a moment, I swear it. If you would be so kind as to follow me," he said, not leaving Lance much of a choice as he headed into this room he opened.

Lance followed compliantly, and as the lights flickered awake, the contents of this room was illuminated—and it was enough to wake Lance right up.

His heart skipped a beat, excited, and even conflicted, at the sight of the metal lion sitting patiently in the bay. "H-How? I . . . where did you find another lion? What . . ."

Lance stumbled over his words, struck with awe at the sight of the daunting, majestic creation before him. Gently, he approached, and ran a hand over the smooth, silvered metal of the front paw.

"It was not found. I made this—just as King Alfor invented the original Lions of Voltron."

And as awed as he was, he couldn't help but frown, craning his neck to look up at the sharp maw of the metal beast. "No offense, but . . . it doesn't really look like a Voltron lion."

Lotor chuckled at that. "Well, my sweet, I'm afraid I couldn't help making a few improvements to the original design. From what I've studied of the lions, the original design was Altean, and—naturally, outdated. This vessel was painstakingly designed and created with the latest advancements in Galra technology," he explains, circling the lion vessel all the while until he met up with Lance once more beside one of the lions front paws. The prince let himself lean against the metal as he watched Lance take it all in. "Similarly to my ship," he adds. "Compatibility with my Sincline mech is part of the design as well."

Lance was quiet as he took it all in—and placed another piece of the puzzle on the table.

Lotor called it a vessel.

"You want the White Lion to imbue it's quintessence into this lion vessel, is that it?"

Lotor slowly nodded, calmly watching Lance.

The ex-paladin nodded in return, lost in thought. As he gazed up again at the daunting face of this new lion, he could hardly see himself piloting it. It just wasn't the same—it looked too different. But he supposed it wouldn't look exactly like Blue or Red anyway.

Even with his hesitance, he also eagerly noted the potential for the vessel. It almost made him . . . excited for tomorrow. To meet the White Lion, to ask for it's help—

What if it said yes? What if the White Lion really allowed him to pilot it through the vessel?

He smiled at the thought. _White Paladin_.

And winced.

Regardless, it wouldn't bring him back to Voltron.

But still, as he looked down at the inventive genius that sat before him, he had to admit—Prince Lotor had really outdone himself.

He said it all with a smile, and that was all Lotor seemed to want. Wordlessly, they left the bay together, footsteps echoing softly off the dimly lit walls.

Lance thought they might not speak for the rest of the night, but Lotor did eventually say something. "I did not design this ship expecting guests—well, _favored_ guests—"

Lance gave a playfully suspicious look at the implication of Lotor taking prisoners, and the prince hurried to correct himself.

" _Anyway_ , I hope you will find my personal quarters to be of sufficience to your needs. It's the least I could offer in light of your generosity in working with me."

Lance blinked in surprise as they came upon Lotor's living space. The room seemed oddly . . . empty. Nevertheless, he was pleased to find that the bed was large and _fluffy_.

He was tempted to just jump on it and knock out right there, but he supposed the least he could do was extend some politeness in return. "Are you sure? Where will you sleep?"

"I've made arrangements for myself," he said simply. "Please, make yourself comfortable to any extent. If you have need of me, you need only shout. I've rerouted the speaker system in Lab Two to my quarters so that I may better hear you should you require—"

Lance yawned again, and Lotor quieted himself. "Sorry." Lance blushed.

Lotor gave a seemingly fond smile as he made to close the door. "That's quite alright. Fair a good night's rest, Lance McClain."

Lance sat himself down on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing along the smooth blankets. He couldn't wait to bury himself in them all. "Goodnight," he called distractedly. A moment later, and the soft shutting of the door met his ears.

He didn't hesitate—if there was one thing he learned about being a space hero, it was that you never pass up a good opportunity to _sleep_.

He stripped, reminding himself that Lotor insisted he make himself comfortable—and climbed in bed.

Before lying down, he kneeled in the center, and closed his eyes. Once again, like every night, he recounted those dear to him, lest he forget. The broadness and complication of the universe was compelling, but he would never allow it to overshadow what mattered most. His family. His friends . . . even when they didn't want him around.

 _"Mom, Dad, Luis_ —Veronica . . _."_

. . .

Lance woke early that morning, or whatever the universal time was. He slept fast and hard, and so as he opened his eyes, he couldn't close them again.

This room, while he remembered where he was, was still unfamiliar to him. It only allowed him to be more aware of his surroundings—aware of the quiet in the room and the scent of the bedsheets.

Sharp, like the iron of armor, and otherworldly, like the vast cosmos.

Normally he'd be forcing himself out of bed and already itching to beat everyone to the training deck, but . . . he wasn't in the castle anymore—and today, that wasn't important.

Today, he would meet a God, and he would have to sway this God— convince it to inhabit a vessel made by a prince of questionable motive.

It seemed that way to outsiders, anyway—but Lance believed; _trusted_ the prince.

He hoped the White Lion would see that. He hoped the White Lion would understand he and Lotor's goals, aspirations, for ending the cruelty of the Galra regime.

The only difference between the Paladins of Voltron, and he, Lotor and his generals, was the desire to save the Galra as well. Zarkon's own people may not even be exempt from his festering rule.

He sat up slowly, stretching and sighing in contentment as the knots in his back loosened and cracked. As he did so, he noticed the curtains draped over the end, reaching from the cieling all the way to the floor.

He hummed as he rose from the bed, a short noise of interest as he approached them. They were sheer, long and black—a canopy of sorts.

Definitely princely of Lotor to have it, but considering the two curtains were so similar to a set of aerial silks . . .

Lance looked at the door, as if Lotor would suddenly appear to stop him. He didn't, though, so Lance tested them out real quick with a little bubble of excitement, lifting himself into a double footlock and testing their constitution.

He, theoretically, _could_ have some fun with these, but he was terribly out of practice and he'd be embarrassed if Lotor caught him twisting around in his curtains.

So he let himself down, and smiled. It'd been a long time since he did something he truly enjoyed—he might have to ask Lotor for something similar for _training purposes_.

But as fun as it was messing around by himself in Lotor's bedchamber, he slipped on his under armor once more, zipping it up only to the waist, and wandered outside, the empty sleeves swaying against the sides of his legs. The lights were dimmed, and there was a quiet that would never be present during waking hours—he must've woken up a few hours, vargas early.

He liked mornings—they were a different sort of quiet, but still held the promise of a new day. He could be alone for a bit; collect his thoughts.

He came across the vessel's bay, and decided to give the empty thing another visit before he became it's pilot. As he approached it, he noticed it already leaning down, maw open.

Once again, he hummed with interest, passing under the sharp metal teeth to enter the bridge.

The lighting was once again dim, and as his eyes adjusted, he paused as the room opened before him.

And laughed behind his hand at the sight of the prince draped regally over the captains seat, arm slung over his eyes to shield from the light.

He sauntered over at his own lax pace, allowing himself to admire the wayward white hair that had come free of it's signature slicked-back style. The pale strands seemed freer now, and fanned out wildly from the crown of his head.

His curiosity wandered into different territory, though—and the ex-paladin took advantage of the opportunity he had to see the bridge first-hand.

He smiled, fingers running gently over the controls. He half expected the metal beast to whir to life, but the metal was empty. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the layout, and found it similar to the original lions.

He studied the control panel for some time, before he felt a warm breeze along the nape of his neck.

Every hair on his body prickled and rose up as he spun around, only to be met with a newly woken prince.

Lance felt the flush rise from the butterflies in his gut to his chest, his neck, and finally to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

The prince laughed—a husky sound, less controlled than he'd always seen him. This was denoted in the wild mess of his stark white hair, which fell into his face by the strand.

Lance watched the predatory golden eyes of this prince blatantly study the rose colored hue that he took on from being caught off guard.

"Lotor," Lance laughed hesitantly, ready to feign indifference. "You scared me! I thought I'd let you sleep—"

The prince interrupted, clearly not yet having donned his manners for the day. "Your biological design interests me," he says boldly. "Will you let me study you?"

Sharp eyes ran over him once again, and Lance fought the urge to squirm. Instead, he stood tall and tried to remain unphased. "You didn't get enough studying done when I was in the healing pod?"

Lotor tiredly rolled his eyes, and his head along with them—the gentle cracking that resulted made Lance feel a bit guilty for taking the bed. "It's a bath, my sweet. They're very different." He paused then, frowning. "Unless you refer to that structure as a pod back on Earth, though I could have sworn I'd seen the term _bath_ used frequently in your tomes . . ."

Lance fought back a smile, and opted to furrow his brows instead. "You trying to dodge the question?"

"Never," he replied, with a simpering fanged grin.

Lance spun around to return his focus to the impressive bridge controls—and to pull himself together a bit—when he jolted at the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding up the bare skin along his spine, a warm hand settling on his shoulder. "Lotor," he accused.

"You're such delicate creatures, even the strongest of you—and how _like_ us you are . . ." He muses, seemingly to himself. "Are you eager to see Oriande?"

The change of topic nearly invoked whiplash, and Lance struggled to focus on anything other than Lotor's touch. "Um . . . I don't know. I'm . . ." Lance took a breath, and as he did, he felt his worries settle on him once more. "Do you think the White Lion will like me? I mean—I'm just a human, I'm just _me_ —a failed Voltron Paladin. If I couldn't pilot Blue _or_ Red, why would White allow me to be it's Paladin?"

"Lance, the White Lion is the deity of peace, the guardian of balance, and a beacon of purity. I see all of these things in you so clearly—if you are not fit to connect with the White Lion, then no one should be."

The ex-paladin allowed himself a short grin—but it was short-lived as the doubt weighed on him again. Really, Shiro or Hunk could easily take his place. Allura too, probably, even if she was struggling—he believed she would do the right thing. After all, peace is all she ever wanted—

"Lance," he says again, interrupting the younger man's thoughts. "I'd like to propose a wager."

Lance blinked, taken aback. "What? What wager?"

The prince leaned in close, and Lance scrunched his nose as the prince's long hair brushed the tip of his nose. Lotor smiled. "I know the White Lion will favor you. I wager this: when the White Lion of legend claims you as it's paladin, you will allow me to study you as I please."

Lance scoffed. "Oh, quiznack," he grumbled, massaging his forehead with one hand, the other tucked beneath his elbow. "Fine, just—you're coming with me, right? To Oriande?"

Lotor stepped back, giving Lance some space. He took the opportunity to put the rest of his under armor on properly, clumsily sliding his arms through the sleeves and zipping up so quickly that his thumb got pinched in the zipper. The prince merely watched in amusement, before he deigned to respond. "Of course. I'm the expert, after all."

Lance huffed a laugh as Lotor gestured to the mouth of the lion.

"Shall we?"

. . .

They'd split up, with the agreement to meet once again at the bridge of Lotor's ship.

He'd heard the generals laughing just inside, and didn't quite have the courage to face that pack of she-wolves just yet. Not without the prince beside him. Galra women could probably smell fear—and if they caught on to his anxiety about the Oriande mission, he didn't think he would be able to endure it.

"Lance," Lotor called, making his way over to the ex-paladin.

Lance blinked, and noticed Lotor had slicked his hair back once more.

Lotor must have noticed something in Lance's look, because he suddenly became a bit hesitant. "Apologies for my behavior earlier—I never meant to overstep any boundary. We Galra are a bit feral in waking up, you see. You humans don't appear to share this trait," he says curiously.

Lance frowned, but raised an amused brow. "Oh, some of us definitely do. I'm just a morning person." An image of a feral morning Pidge crossed his mind, and he shivered.

Lotor nodded playfully, lips pulling back into a smile. He meant to speak, but before he could do so, Ezor came swinging through the open doorway to the bridge.

She let herself hang to the side, arm stretched out and holding onto the wall to hold her up. "Lotor, we've entered the graveyard," she informed, tone light but eyes hard when she looked at Lance.

Lance swallowed thickly, and looked to the prince. "Graveyard?"

Lotor's expression turned grim, and with pursed lips, he stepped forward to guide both general and paladin further into the bridge area.

As Lance stepped up alongside the rest of the team, his jaw went slack, and a sharp pang stunned his heart at the sight of the countless metal carcasses and wrecks passing by. Not one person spoke—almost as if giving these fallen pilots and crews a moment of silence.

Not one of the dead ships showed any sign of life, and not a single hunk of metal remained in one piece.

The Sincline ship shuddred beneath their feet, and Zethrid muttered, "Debris."

Lance had never heard the aggressive general so quiet.

Lance looked to the prince again, but saw no hesitation in him. Only _determination_. "Lotor, are you sure about this?"

"Trust me, Lance. I've done this before. I know how it all looks, but it _is_ possible."

Just then, as they flew over a rather large piece of shipwreck, a blinding light soared across the atmosphere. Lance recoiled, and as the window dimmed to compensate, he realized what he was looking at.

"The white hole," he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I started learning aerial silks some time before Covid-19 hit hard. I was just getting good at it too ☹. Ah well, I'll have something to look forward to when this Coronavirus mess calms down!  
> Wishing the best to everyone supporting the #blacklivesmatter movement, please stay safe! You have my support always


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